They Could Not Stop For Death
by CleverAlibi
Summary: Sisfic: College student, estranged Lily 'Williams' reluctantly rejoins her brothers after years away at school. But is their father's death enough to reunite a broken family and inspire Lily to take up the hunt? Rated for some language.
1. A Different Life

**Just a few notes:**

**This is my first ever (published) 'fanfiction', so enjoy. It IS written like a novel, so there will be several dynamic characters, meaning there will be scenes with more character interaction than fighting monsters and what not. However, I'll try and throw in a memory every chapter or so of the little Winchester's training or being cute. Anyway, enjoy, read, review, and so on!**

**Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, and John Winchester do not belong to me. The title of the story is a play on Emily Dickinson's 'Because I Could Not Stop For Death'. There. =)**

**Canton, OH. Thirteen years ago.  
**

It was the crying that woke him.

His green eyes flew open in the darkness, but unlike most boys his age woken in the middle of the night, Dean Winchester wasted no time being disoriented, trying to figure out what had disturbed his slumber. At fourteen years old, Dean knew that a moment's hesitation—especially in the dark—could well be the difference between life and death.

But this surprise alarm held no immediate danger in it. It was not a scream, or a growl. There was no howl in the wind, no bump in the night. This alarm was quiet, stifled by fear and sadness. This was a quiet cry, a sniffle, a whimper in the darkness.

This was his six-year-old sister Lily.

Again, Dean distinguished himself from others his age. He didn't roll over and go back to sleep. He didn't pull his pillow over his head and grumble about her immaturity. He didn't slam his bedroom door shut or shout down the hall for her to be quiet. He did sigh heavily as he sat up, yawning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He did tiptoe as quietly past his sleeping younger brother as he could. He did crack open the door and peer down the hallway of their rented house to intercept his little sister just before she reached her own room, a converted laundry room which gave her 'privacy'.

"Lil, com'ere. You okay?"

The dark haired child jumped, not having heard Dean's approach, and whirled around to look at him as he crouched next to her. He saw fear flash to confusion, then finally reluctant, but stubborn, resolution. She blinked her tears away and sniffed before nodding.

"Yes, Dean, I'm okay. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sorry."

Dean raised an eyebrow. She wouldn't look at him, but it was clear she was still upset, and lying about it. He knelt in front of her so their eyes were at the same level. They had the same eyes, everyone said. Same color, same shape. But Lily's were so big, it was impossible not to think she was a few years younger than the six years her birth certificate claimed.

"You sure, Lil? You're shaking. What happened?"

Lily's breath hitched, but she still refused to look up at him. "N-no," she whispered, her voice now drenched in barely withheld tears. "I mean yes. I'm okay. Nothing happened."

"Lily…"

"Daddy told me not to wake you up. He said you were real tired because you helped him fix a lots of cars today."

Dean shut his eyes and let out a small huff or irritation. It was true enough—he was tired, but it wasn't due to fixing cars. Not that he'd tell his sister that. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it. He'd made the mistake of telling Sammy two years ago, and he'd never quite gotten over that guilt. But it wasn't the lie that bothered him. It was that she'd obviously gone to her father for comfort, and he'd sent her away, with instructions not to wake her brothers. John Winchester was training little Lily to be a soldier, too, but in a different way.

Dean opened his eyes his eyes with a resigned sigh and drew his sister toward him. With his other hand he smiled tiredly and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Don't worry, Lil. I'm okay. I—" He stopped and frowned through the darkness. "Lil? Are you feeling okay? You're a little warm…"

Lily hesitated visibly, then, in a whisper so low, Dean just barely caught it, she said, "I threw up."

Dean ground his teeth together. "Did you tell Dad you're sick?"

She nodded. "He said to put my blanket in the laundry basket and go back to sleep."

"Did he give you anything?"

"He said I should sleep it off…" There was another pause as Dean struggled to maintain his annoyance at his father's neglect. Independent or not, a sick six-year-old wasn't just going to magically recover from a fever. He started to say something, but Lily interrupted.

"Dean?"

"Mm?" He was still distracted by his own anger.

"I want to go to bed now. I don't f-feel good. And I'm cold."

"I know, Lil. C'mon. Why don't you come spend the night with Sammy and me?"

"But Daddy said—"

"I know what he said," Dean replied a little too sharply. "It'll be fine. I want you to stay with us for tonight, okay?"

She hesitated again, then nodded, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Dean winced, knowing then that she probably felt worse than she let on._ Because Dad scared her into silence, _he thought drily.

Sam was sitting up in bed when Dean carried Lily into their room. The ten-year-old flicked on the bedside lamp and looked back and forth between the faces of his brother and sister, one set in a grim mask, the other flushed and tear stained. Sam frowned.

"Dean? What's going on?" He squinted at Lily. "Is she okay?"

"Lily's sick," Dean said shortly, setting the now shivering girl on his bed. Still obviously upset by her interaction with their father, she scrambled up and followed after him as he retreated to the door. "No, Lil. Lay down. Get under the covers. I'll be right back."

"But if Daddy sees you, he'll know I woke you up, and—"

"It'll be fine. I'll tell him—"

"Dean, no! You can't!"

Sam was up then, reading the short glance his older brother had shot him. He knew what their father could be like, and he knew how to read his siblings. He shuffled out of his own bed and sat with Lily on Dean's, wrapping his arms around her.

"Shhh," he soothed. "It's okay, Lily. Dean'll be quiet. You just worry about getting back to sleep, okay? You sleepy?"

The girl's cries quieted slowly as her weariness, as much as her illness, forced her eyelids shut. Head leaning against Sam's chest, she curled up, shaking, tiny fingers wrapped around Sam's skinny arms. Both boys waited until the fall and rise of her chest became slow and even, and her grip on her brother's biceps went slack. Then Sam looked up and said, "Dean, she's really hot. Don't you think we should tell Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "She did. He sent her back to strip her sheets and go to bed. She was sick," he added, at Sam's questioning look. "Keep an eye on her for a second. I'm gonna go change her sheets and grab a few extra blankets and some Tylenol or something. Try and get her under the covers. She's shaking pretty good."

Sam nodded and complied without asking questions. He knew, perhaps better than Dean did, what it was like to be forced into a corner by his father. A ten-year-old boy was one thing…but a six-year-old girl, especially when she was sick?

Sam sighed and shifted to pull Dean's bed linens up around Lily's shoulders. She felt like a furnace, but her shaking didn't lessen until her pulled her a little closer.

"Oh, Lil," he whispered to the sleeping girl. "I'm sorry he's like that with you. Dad…he still loves you, he just…just…" Sam trailed off. Just what? What could he say that he actually believed?

He still hadn't found an answer when Dean returned with another blanket and Lily's stuffed pink-and-green puppy, Ruff. It had been a gift from a mother she couldn't remember, and he knew she treasured it.

"How's she doing?" Dean grunted, going to change into something dry.

"Sleep," Sam mumbled, half asleep himself.

"I'll take her. Go to bed, Sammy. Thanks."

"But Dean, you and Dad—"

"Don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

Sam hesitated, then complied, carefully untangling himself from Lily's loose grip to settle into his own bed. Dean climbed up next to his sister, wrapping the second blanket around her before settling her into his chest for the night. She stirred slightly when Sam moved, but she was too exhausted to truly wake. For the first time, it occurred to Dean she might have been sick longer than he'd thought.

"She should drink some water," Sam whispered quietly, swaying on his feet as sleep threatened to drag him under again.

"I'll wake her up in a little bit. Let her sleep for now. She's tired." Dean squinted at his brother through the dark. "So are you. Get to bed, Sam."

Sam nodded sleepily, then grabbed Ruff from his nightstand where Dean had set it, and placed it lovingly next to Lily's head before climbing into his own bed again.

Dean smiled, looking just as tired. "Thanks, Sammy. You did good."

"You're not gonna sleep tonight, are you, Dean? Even though you had that hunt…" Sam's words were muffled by his pillow, but they both knew it wasn't really a question.

"You know how she gets," Dean answered evasively.

There was a long silence, and for a second, Dean thought Sam had gone back to sleep. Then, just as Dean had begun nodding off unintentionally, Sam spoke up.

"Why does he treat her like that, Dean?"

Dean didn't answer right away. Why did he treat any of them like that? They were children, not soldiers. They deserved a house, not a rented shack, which was even a step up from the new motel every other week. They deserved friends, and a parent who cared. But Dean had learned long ago you didn't always get what you deserved.

"Go to sleep, Sammy. Go to sleep."

"Dean—"

"I know. I'll wake you up if she gets worse. Goodnight, Sammy."

"'Night, Dean… 'Night, Lily."

**

* * *

**

**Hanover, NH. Present day.**

_Beep-beep_.

"Dammit, _I know!_" Lily grunted, pushing away from her flimsy school desk in frustration. Her alarm clock had warned her for the fourth time in thirty minutes that she was supposed to be up to go to crew practice.

Problem was, of course, she was already up. And if the searing red LED numbers on the clock her father had gotten her for graduation—the only sign, and a ten dollar sign at that, he'd even remembered—were anything to go by, she had been for the last thirty-six hours. As a second year pre-med student at Dartmouth University, 5 AM bedtimes were far from abnormal for the nineteen-year-old. But that knowledge certainly didn't improve Lily Williams' mood.

With another frustrated grunt, she reached over and slapped the offending alarm clock into silence. "Shut up, bitch," she muttered without thinking. An answering groan behind her told her that her roommate, Amber, had also suffered the consequences of Lily's sour temper.

"Sorry, Bersey," she whispered drily. Amber mumbled and answer, shifted in her bed, and was snoring again two minutes later. Lily smirked, sighed, and shuffled to their shared mirror, carefully avoiding the numerous hazards, including book bags, books, and crumpled clothing, leering at her through the dark.

At nineteen-and-a-half years old, Lily wasn't…small, exactly. After all, she'd been doing crew now for fives years, and her upbringing hadn't exactly lent itself to a sedentary lifestyle. She was well built, muscular, for a girl, anyway, and tan from her hours in the sun. When schoolwork got to be too much, her favorite thing to do was go running by the lake her team usually practiced. Lily loved the outdoors, despite knowing 'what was out there', as her father liked to say, and everything about her physical appearance reflected the fact, from her browned skin, to the freckles spread over the bridge of her nose and the high cheeks bones she'd inherited from her mother.

Still. As a child, she'd often been teased for not looking her age. It wasn't her fault entirely. For some reason she'd never been sure of (the same unidentified reason that had prompted her into pursuing biology; that, and the premature death of the mother she'd never known), she was a little on the 'petite' side, her doctors had always said. Proportionally, she was alright. In fact, thanks to crew, she was probably a little bigger—more well muscled, anyway—than the average girl. But her height and weight had just never met the standard. Her abnormally large green eyes didn't help, either. Lily had always felt, even now, with twenty looming only months away, that she looked more like a ten year old at five feet tall, than a twenty year old with a penchant for fighting.

With yet another exasperated sigh, Lily brushed her thick, dark brown curly waves into a ponytail. As usual, her curled bangs fell into her green eyes, brushing her eyebrows and tickling her eyelashes. She didn't bother to push them back, instead securing them in place with a haphazard red bandana. She knew her hairstyle probably didn't help her appear older, but she had a good reason for keeping her ten-year-old bangs.

Hair manageable for the moment, it took her only a few minutes to change; she'd shower and brush her teeth when she returned to her room with the rising sun in about two hours. Then she'd skip breakfast to finish the paper she'd been working on all night. What fun.

Lily yawned as she grabbed her sports bag and jogged from her room all the way to the gym. It wasn't easy, she supposed, the college life. Hell, it was the life of a pre-med, Ivy League athlete. But it was the life she'd chosen, and she loved it. Anything was better than life at home. That life was the life she'd left behind when she'd graduated high school. It was the life she'd cut herself off from when she'd legally changed her last name at eighteen. That life was far away seeking darkness in childhood nightmares.

That life was the life of a Winchester, and she wanted nothing to do with it.


	2. Toward Eternity

**Me again! Hope if you've gotten this far, it's because you're enjoying what I've got. Writing is procrastination, so I'll likely keep this up for a while, but I probably won't continue to publish without a whole lot of positive feeback. =O Let me know what you think, and enjoy! I've already started on chapter three--no worries. The Winchester brothers you know and love will be in the next several chapters a whole bunch. Peace!**

**OH! And the only Winchester that's mine is Lily. *sigh* Also, Emily Dickinson wrote her own poem, entitled 'Because I Could Not Stop For Death'.  
**

"I assume, Ms. Williams, that the two bushy-tailed rodents you seem so intent upon are conducive to today's lesson?"

The cold intonation of her name brought Lily back quickly from where she'd been, chin firmly cupped in one palm, eyes seeing without seeing a few squirrels chasing each other on the quad.

She answered automatically. "Yes, sir."

It wasn't until the class tittered around her she knew she'd answered incorrectly.

Professor Grisham—Doctor, as he preferred to be called—taught only two classes at Dartmouth: Introduction to Neurology for grad students, and advanced biochemistry for undergraduate students on the new FastTrack pre-med route. Lily often compared herself and her classmates to the Marines: The Few, the Proud, the Advanced. It was a rigorous course, of that no one would argue. But so much emphasis was put on their 'advancement' is was impossible not to joke, if only to relieve some of the pressure forced on the intelligent individuals.

In any case, if she and the other twenty or so students were the Marines, Doctor Grisham was none other than the proverbial battle-worn drill sergeant. The one who was 'only hard on his charges, because he wanted them to succeed'. The same one, who, if he weren't killed halfway through the movie (at the end of her second year, Lily was beginning to lose hope for this possibility), would experience a teary-eyed moment of pride when one of his soldiers, the one everyone else had given up on, took on the entire enemy battalion using some otherwise inconsequential tip he'd learned early on.

All things considered, things weren't looking too bright on that front, either, though it looked as though Lily had just reestablished her role as the underdog.

Doctor Grisham smiled a smile that was too perfect to be anything but terrifying as he swooped in for the kill. "Oh?" he said, almost sweetly. Lily didn't move, though she was certain there had to be some sort of law against looking at a person like that. Cannibalism was illegal in the United States…right? "And what, pray tell," Grisham continued, using a word Lily was certain didn't even exist anymore, "would that be?"

Lily blinked, trying to ignore the flush she could feel rising on her face. She hated blushing; her freckles stood out and made her look like a leper. The thought made her face burn redder as she answered, "Er…what would _what _be, Prof—Doctor?"

"Today's lesson, Ms. Williams," Grisham droned on, over the sound of the giggling class. "The one you say is conducive to the mammalian activity over yonder? The same activity you can't seem to take your eyes off? I assume it must be at least partially related to our lesson, since you certainly aren't paying attention to what _I'm_ saying, and finals are in two weeks."

Lily just stared, trying to figure out why accusations seemed so much worse when they were accompanied only by your last name—maybe it was some sort of ancient incantation? She thought it, but didn't smile. She'd never found those dry jokes of hers even a little funny—when the continued giggles from around her alerted her to the present. Grisham was staring at her expectantly.

Oh. He wanted an answer.

Still burning red, Lily's eyes shot to her desk. She'd finished the paper only minutes before class, dragging everything from her desk along with her, haphazardly shoved into her bags. Now, with an assortment of crumpled papers on her desk, and less than two hours of sleep in the past 48 hours to her name, she blurted out the first thing she saw:

_'Because I could not stop for Death,_  
_He Kindly stopped for me;_  
_The carriage held but just ourselves,_  
_and—'_

"Uh…_Because I Could Not Stop for Death_?"

The quasi-polite giggles which had been steadily growing in volume around her now erupted into full blown, uninhibited, slightly nervous laughter. Even Drill Sergeant Grisham appeared pleased with her answer. Lily had known she was wrong even as the words left her lips; there wasn't much to be done for it now. It wasn't as though she could get much redder.

Then again, it was never a good idea to test fate.

"Of course," said Grisham as he retreated to his board, full of equations Lily hadn't seen him put up. "I can see how squirrels playing in the grass might remind you of nineteenth century American poetry. But I still fail to see the connection between Miss Dickinson and gluconeogenesis. Perhaps you can explain it to me after class."

Lily suppressed a groan. Wonderful. One more activity to try to wedge into her day. Never mind that she couldn't focus on a single thing for more than thirty seconds without having to remind herself to _wake up!_ She nodded wordlessly and packed away her literature notes, crumbling them into the bottom of her torn backpack with everything else. Times like these she wondered what life might have been like if she hadn't moved away…

_'We passed the school, where children strove  
At recess, in the ring;  
We passed the fields of gazing grain,  
We passed the setting sun._

_Or rather, he passed us…'_

She quickly shoved those thoughts, thoughts of 'home' and 'family', away with the rest of Emily's poem, even as the rest of the class began to empty around her. She must have missed the dismissal. Or perhaps she'd just been more caught up with the poem than she'd realized. No matter the reason, he was waiting, and she was already running late.

Jumping to her feet, balling up the rest of the poem in her hand, she trudged to the front of the lecture room, backpack in tow. Grisham was packing away his laptop, shutting down Powerpoint, giving harried instructions to the TA, who was looking at the clock. It was Friday afternoon, and even biology majors had somewhere to be.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Grisham turned to look at her. The monster he normally was still lingered behind his pale blue eyes, though it seemed subdued by lack of student-chaos to feed on.

"Good afternoon, Miss Williams. Enjoyed your poem?"

She bit her lip and ducked her head slightly. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wander off like that. The team—the crew team, I mean—we're just finishing our pre-season training, and—"

"I understand how difficult it is to be both student and athlete, Miss Williams. Especially a student-athlete at your level of performance." Perhaps the words were meant to be a compliment. They didn't feel like one. "But I think there comes a time where a student-athlete must—"

_'I'm blue, da ba die da ba die doo da ba dee da ba die…'_

It seemed impossible that the day could get any worse. Two years ago, the early-nineties throwback had seemed the best possible option for a ring tone. Now, Lily reserved it for only those most seldom of calls, and even then, only as a private joke. Lily muttered a halted apology as she whipped her phone out and hung up on the call without checking the caller ID. The song was saved for two people, and two people alone, neither of whom were high on her list of people to talk to just now.

"Sorry," she muttered again. "I didn't—"

_'I'm blue, da ba die da ba die doo da ba dee da ba die…'_

"Perhaps you ought to take the call," Grisham said drily, one eyebrow raised. "Make it quick."

Lily smiled apologetically, then quickly stepped out of the room, her face burning again, though now more with irritation than embarrassment.

"Jesus, what _is _it, Sam?!? I have a meeting with my professor. I'm in classes right now! Just because you're a graduate doesn't mean life stops for the rest of us!"

It wasn't often Lily talked to her older brother. He'd just graduated from Stanford University, but the 3000 mile separation did nothing to sweeten their relationship. She'd been expecting a, "Well, hello to you, too." Maybe he was telling her he'd finally gotten that scholarship, and he was on his way to grad school. He was going to be a lawyer, Lily thought. He, too, had left the 'family business', thoughtthe similarity didn't make for good blood between Sam and his little sister.

Still, all the guesses in the world couldn't have prepared her for what came next.

"Lily. Good. Where are you?"

Lily grunted, exasperated. "I'm _IN A MEETING_! I just said that, Sam. Look, can I call you back, or something, I—"

"No, I mean…I mean are you by yourself?"

Lily stopped, frowned. She hadn't seen her brother in almost four years, but she didn't think any person's voice could change so much in that amount of time. He sounded older, yes, but more than that…huskier. Rougher. Like he'd been…crying? She was instantly wary.

"Yes…kind of…why? What happened? Why are you calling?"

The questions were a formality. Lily already knew the answer. Hell, she'd probably known since the moment she'd heard his voice on the other end.

"Sam? Sam, what–? "

"Dad's dead, Lily. A…a car crash. They…they just called it a few minutes ago."

Lily supposed he kept talking. He had to have, right? Close or not, they shared the same father, and he owed her some sort of explanation, or at least a funeral notice. If Lily had been paying attention, she might have caught the ragged tone in Sam's voice that betrayed how hurt he truly was. She might have been suspicious, because she knew the relationship between her the younger of her two brothers and her father was colder even than the one between herself and the rest of her family.

But Lily hardly heard it. She muttered a quiet goodbye, tucked away her phone, picked up her bag, and stepped back into the classroom where Grisham was waiting. One look at her face told him the meeting was going to have to be rescheduled. She left again without a word.

On her way back to her room, she dropped the piece of paper she'd been clutching in her hand, and Emily floated away on the wind, flashing the closing lines of her poem to the setting sun:

_'Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each  
Feels shorter than the day  
I first surmised the horses' heads  
Were toward eternity.'_


	3. Now as Then

**Well, the first 24 hours of all this have gone well, so I guess I'll keep this up! Thanks for reading. I love constructive criticism, so if you see something you don't like, lemme have it! =D**

**I still don't own the Winchester crew (or Bobby Singer). **

Sam's fork clattered to the stained diner table with a clang.

"Look, someone needs to say something."

The Winchester kids had been sitting in a dingy diner a mile outside the hospital where Sam and Dean had been for the last few days. Lily, who had flown in on a red eye flight and been taxied over, looked tired, but neither of her brothers thought pointing that out would be an appropriate way to rekindle a sibling relationship which had been dead for years. So, they'd all agreed to eat, but between Lily's exhaustion, and the boys' recent stay at the hospital, none of them were really hungry.

Which left talking. Unfortunately, none of them were much into that idea, either.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh when the silence persisted another full minute. He and Dean sat on one side of the table, Lily on the other. She stared intently into her full mug of lukewarm coffee. It didn't hide the bags under her eyes.

"Later, man," Dean said evasively. His voice sounded about as weary as Lily felt. She hid a wince. "She's exhausted."

At this, Lily looked up sharply. "I'm fine, Dean, thanks. Maybe we should discuss why you two look so beat up."

It had been the first question out of her mouth when she'd seen them: Sam, with a faceful of bruises, Dean with one arm in a sling. Two years since she'd seen Dean (and even then, the visits were only hours long, if that), and five since she'd seen Sam (she'd left for an all-girls boarding school at the same time he graduated from high school. Somehow, their visits home never overlapped), and their first greeting had been stilted and awkward. All of them knew why, and it had less to do with their father's death than one might expect. Good ol' Winchester love.

Dean shook his head. "We've been over this already, Lil."

"Lily."

"Fine. Lily. We've been over this already. There was a car accident. Sam was driving, some guy in a semi fell asleep at the wheel, and…"

"The Impala? Sam was driving the Impala?"

"Yeah."

"Why was Sam driving? And where's the car?"

Sam intervened, doing a poor job of hiding his frustration. Already, the tension was building between them. He could feel it. "Lily, what are you doing? We're here for lunch, not an interrogation."

Lily turned on him with a cool smile. "Is that what we're here for, Sammy? Because it seemed pretty damn important that I get down here as soon as I could. I have finals in two weeks, Sam. Did I really need to fly fifteen hundred miles out of my way for lunch?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

"I mean what's with all the questions, Lil?!" Sam finally exploded, causing one or two people to look over. Lily smiled apologetically at them, and Dean thought he detected a hint of smugness in the way she looked back at Sam.

"Lily. And you don't think I'm allowed to know about my father's death? You couldn't tell me anything on the phone—"

"I told you everything. It was a car crash. That's it."

"Right," Lily said, stirring her coffee. "A car crash. Where you were driving the Impala."

"So?"

"So since when have you ever been first choice to drive Dad's car?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "What does that matter?"

"It matters," Lily said, now beginning to lose her temper as well, "because the only way Dad would let you drive the Impala is if both he and Dean were out of commission. So tell me what really happened."

Sam stared at his sister, at the girl he'd last seen as a lanky fourteen-year-old who'd once been responsible for all the research that put her father and brothers in harm's way. Had it really been five years since he'd seen her last? What had happened in those five years that had made her flaunt her father's death? Or had he really just been so oblivious to how she felt that he _thought_ she'd changed? After all, a year ago, he might have well reacted the same way.

"Lily…" he started with a sigh. It only managed to further set her off.

"Don't 'Lily' me, Sam. You always do this. Both of you. I'm not a child, alright? I've been living on my own since I was fourteen. I'll be twenty in six months. And I've known about 'what's out there' as Dad is…was so fond of saying, since I was nine. Anything you say, I can handle it. So, tell me: what does car crash really mean? Hunt gone wrong? Infected wound? Demon possession? Werewolf—"

"I was supposed to die," Dean interrupted flatly. "Alright, Lily? I was supposed to die."

Lily stopped her rant mid-breath. She hadn't been expecting that. What she had been expecting, she wasn't sure…but it wasn't that. "W-what?"

"I said I was supposed to die," Dean repeated firmly, and this time he looked up at her. Catching her reaction, he smirked mirthlessly. "What, Lily, wasn't what you were expecting? Maybe a little more than you thought you could handle?"

"Stop it," Lily said, her voice little more than a whisper. But Dean was sick of the arguing. It was the one thing the stood out most from his childhood—the constant arguments between Lily and his father, his father and Sam, Sam and Lily…round and round and round. He hated it. And now, tired and grief-stricken, he was getting even.

"C'mon, Lil. Thought you were ready for anything. Just like when we were kids. Always ready to jump out in the fray, that's my sister. Too damn stubborn to know when to quit."

"Stop it." The words weren't any louder, but they were harsher, and maybe hiding the threat of tears.

"Try out the new gun? Sure, why not? She can handle it—the Great Lily Winchester." Dean wasn't even aware of what he was saying anymore. All he knew was that being together with his siblings like this brought back all the old frustration and now it was releasing itself like it should have years ago. "But when things get too hard, when someone won't let her have her way, she runs. She leaves her brothers, leaves her father and runs away to where things are easier."

Lily was shaking now, and while Dean didn't see it, Sam did. He was frustrated with his sister, but now Dean was attacking Sam's weaknesses, too, and reconciled or not, it still hurt.

"Dean…"

Dean didn't hear his brother. "Lily Winchester, Mistress of the Spoiled, returns only when she's sure the coast is clear."

"I said _stop it_!" Lily stood so suddenly, she upended her coffee, sending the brown liquid surging over the ends of the table and onto the floor. Eyes stinging, she left their booth, blurting a harried apology to the surprised waitress who'd come to help clean up the mess.

Dean stared at the empty space where his sister had been as if just returning from a dream. Sam accepted a few napkins from the waitress, then awkwardly tried to fend off the stares Lily had accumulated in his wake. Failing that, he pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table before nudging Dean.

"We should go."

"Go where?" Dean asked distantly. He still seemed confused as to why their coffee-soaked table now lacked a Winchester.

"Anywhere, I don't know. The motel, the hospital. We should just go. We're making a scene."

"What about Lily?"

"She'll cool down."

"She's not going to want to talk to us."

"She doesn't have to talk to us. But she does need a ride and a bed. Let her get some sleep. Maybe she'll feel better."

Dean nodded dumbly and allowed himself to be guided out to the car their father's friend, Bobby Singer, had loaned them. Dean climbed into the driver's seat, and Sam, into the passenger's side.

Lily was curled on the backseat, already asleep, or pretending to be.

Dean started to back out of the parking space, catching his sleeping sister's reflection into the rear view mirror. With a grunt, he pulled off his leather jacket and handed it to Sam.

"Here."

"What's this for?"

Dean inclined his head toward the backseat. "It's cold. She doesn't have a jacket. Probably didn't think she'd be here long enough to need one," he added coolly.

Sam looked at his brother, then the jacket, then his sister, before reaching around his seat with his long arms to gently drape the jacket over Lily's shoulders. She didn't move, but he thought maybe some of the tension left her face.

The fights, the accusations, the silent apologies…Sam had been wrong.

For better or worse, nothing had changed.


	4. Love, Daddy

**I don't own these folks! Just Lily. **

She was dreaming…

_"Dad, please. I'm old enough. You—"_

_ "I nothing, Lily. Stay home. Lock the doors. We'll be back by the end of the week."_

_ "Dad, this isn't fair!" Eleven-year-old Lily pleaded with her father as her two brother loaded the Impala, pretending not to notice. They're sister was precocious, yes. She'd shed her childhood innocence two years ago when she'd accidentally found out what her family did 'for a living'. These arguments with their father was as close as she ever got to a temper tantrum. And with the three others—Sam, Dean, and John Winchester—looking out for her, and with the training each of them had been giving her in secret, each of them concerned with what would happen if the others found out, she'd likely be fine._

_ But likely was not certainly, and likely was enough to distract them at the critical moment. _

_ John was getting frustrated with his youngest and only daughter. "Christ, Lily, even Dean didn't go on his first hunt until he was thirteen. You know that."_

_ "Dean didn't find out about the hunting when he was nine, Dad," Lily shot back coldly. All three Winchester men flinched. It was a weak spot, how young she'd found out, and she knew it. She'd lashed out at them before thinking, and felt guilty now. She opened her mouth to apologize, but John interrupted._

_ "Discussion over. Get inside, keep the doors locked, don't answer for anyone."_

_ "But—"_

_ "Make sure the first aid kit is full. I'll be checking when I get back."_

_ "Dad." It was a weak protest. Lily knew she'd already lost. John Winchester climbed into the driver's seat of his car without another word._

_ At the trunk, nineteen-year-old Dean and fifteen-year-old Sam were having a silent conversation with their eyes. Finally, Sam muttered, "Just get in the car. I'll talk to her." Dean hesitated, then complied as Sam went to bid his sister goodbye. _

_ "We'll be back soon, you know," he said as the Impala started up behind them._

_ "Sure," Lily said. "Just like always."_

_ "He just wants to protect you."_

_ "Right. By leaving me here alone with a loaded shot gun and a locked door."_

_ "Lil…"_

_ "It's fine, Sammy. Go. Just…be careful."_

_ Sam bent and hugged his sister. Even at fifteen, he was tall for his age, and her head just barely reached his chest. "You, too." He turned and started back toward the car, then reconsidered. "Lily?"_

_ She looked up. "Mm?"_

_ Sam paused, as if about to say something, then changed his mind. "Shoot first, ask questions later."_

_ Lily nodded. "I know."_

**xxxx**

**

* * *

**

"Why am I here?"

The three sat idly in their shared motel room: Lily, on the bed she'd just woken up in, Sam at the table, on his computer, and Dean on the couch, flipping through the same four channels of static over and over again.

Sam looked over first. "Because you fell asleep in the car and we didn't want to wake you up?"

Lily shook her head. "I mean, why am I here in Missouri at the end of my school year? I know…Dad died. But I also know we can't afford a funeral, and Dad would want his body burned, anyway. You don't need me to identify the body, so…what am I doing here?" The words lacked heat or passion, sounding more like a weary plea.

They ignited Dean's temper nonetheless. "You're here because your father is dead."

Lily looked at him dully. "So, what I'm supposed to say goodbye? I think I'm a little late, don't you? Besides, I haven't seen Dad in five years. I doubt he'd even remember me."

Sam interrupted. "Lily, don't be like that."

Lily rounded on him. "Don't be like what, Sam? You're not much better; at least Dad moved around the country. Sometimes he got _close_ to New Hampshire!"

"Hey, you ran away from _us_, Lily," Dean argued.

"And you never came after me!" She'd been awake less than five minutes, and they were arguing again. The Winchester kids hadn't skipped a single beat in five years. She looked at Sam. "Clearly you two patched things up alone the way. Anything for one last hunt with Dad, eh?"

"Lily—"

"Don't _Lily_ me, Sam! This is the way it always was. You and Dean and Dad go out and fight with monsters and risk your lives messing around in the dark, and I'm just supposed to sit around and wait for bad news?"

"Dad was just trying to protect you. He was always just trying to—"

"Protect me?" Lily exploded. "Sam, I spent my life sitting alone in motel rooms knowing my entire family was only inches from death at any given moment! Do you know what it was like to sit and wait and not hear back from any of you for weeks at a time? To have nothing to do but stare at a wall and _hope _you're alright? Maybe do some more research on the things I knew you were fighting? I was _scared,_ Sam! I was terrified that one day you wouldn't come home, and I would just sit there, forever, by myself, growing more and more anxious every day, and never have any closure!

"And when you _did _get back…Oh, that was a treat. Half dragging you all to a bed, trying to stitch you up, and not being able too because I was crying too hard, or my hands were shaking, or I was too tired from a week's worth of sleepless nights! I would sit there every night, Sam, with my first aid kit on my lap, staring at the door, hoping, praying that you'd come back alright, if you came back at all! You have no idea, Sammy! Dad said he was trying to protect me, but waiting back at home was torture. I'd rather have died a million times than be the one to stitch my family back together when they couldn't do it themselves. I was nine years old, Sam. Nine! No nine-year-old kid should have to nurse her older brother's back to health. Not when she was counting on them for protection."

No one moved when she finished. Sam and Dean sat in stunned silence. Lily was breathing heavily and shaking ever so slightly. The garbled theme music from 'The Price is Right' played in the background.

Lily spoke first.

"Look. I'm…I'm sorry. I should go. I'll have my professors move my exams up, and I'll come back next week. We can figure out what to do from there when it comes up." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I'm tired, or stressed out or…"

"Or dealing with the fact that Dad is dead and Dean and I have been away long enough to be strangers," Sam supplied gently. He stood and deposited his computer in front of her. "It's a list of flights for the next twenty-four hours. If you want to go back to school, no one is stopping you. But," he said, putting up a hand as Lily started to interrupt, "we want you here. And he wanted you here. Dad's death…it was sudden, or he would have called you earlier. I hate that everything that brings this family together is tragic…Mom's death, Dad's…Jess's…"

Lily frowned. "Jess?"

"In a minute. Just know that I know what it's like to run, Lily. You think it'll make everything better. You think you can distance yourself from the hurt, but it only makes it worse. Like you said, no one wants to sit on the sidelines and wait for bad news. We didn't know what it was like for you. We—I—never stopped to think about how waiting must have been, but you have to understand, it wasn't supposed to be torture. Dad was just taking care of you the best way he knew how. And he would have wanted you here, just to be here, if nothing else. No waiting involved. He just would have wanted to be a family one last time."

Lily looked back and forth between her brothers. "How do you know?" she said finally. "You remember what he said when I changed my name."

"Dad says a lot of things Lil…Lily. You know that," Dean said, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. "But he means well. And he gave me this." He stepped forward and shoved a crumpled piece of folded paper into her hands.

Lily took it with a frown. "What is it?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Told me not to read it. Said it was for you specifically."

Lily took it, flipped it over, studied it from every possible angle without unfolding it. But when she did, and saw the three words—unmistakably her father's hand writing: _Dear Lily Pad_—it was too much. Hastily she shoved the letter in her pocket and grabbed her bag.

"I should go," she said hoarsely. "I'm…I'm sorry. I'll come back as soon as I can. I'll find a taxi and get to the airport. I'll call when I've landed."

She made it all the way out to the curb and had succeeded in flagging down a taxi before she opened the letter again. She was halfway to the airport when she finished reading.

Two minutes later, the dingy yellow car was headed back to the motel.

Sam wasn't sure who was most surprised when he opened the door an hour after Lily had left: himself, his brother, or Lily.

"Lily? Did you forget something?"

She pushed past him, set her bag on the floor and settled on a bed. Then she took a deep breath and said, "Tell me everything. I want to know everything. Starting with Jess."

In her hand, she held the letter, balled up so she couldn't accidentally read the haunting last lines again.


	5. PS

**Hey, guys! Sorry this took longer than the others. I had already had planned exactly how the first few chapters should go when I started. Also, I'm right in the middle of finals now and a little busy. BUT, I think I've got the ball more or less rolling again, and summer (for me, anyway, yay college!) is only a few days away!**

**Thanks so much for reading! I'd like to thank my reviewers especially, you guys are awesome, and if I had to choose a favorite super hero, you'd all be it. Please keep letting me know what you think! I love notes. **

**The boys still ain't mine. Peace and love! ~Z**

**

* * *

**

_Dear Lily Pad:_

_ Lil. Lily. My little Lily. This'll be the fourth time I've started with this letter. I keep messing up the next time worse than the last. It's so tempting to right what feels right, what sounds right, if anything 'sounds' right in a letter like this. But I know what I want to say, and what I have to say, and they are not the same thing. _

_ So first, Lily Pad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. For your mother, for the way we always moved around when you were a kid. I'm sorry that you never got the puppy you wanted, and I'm sorry you never had very many friends at school. I still don't know how you turned out so damn smart—school to school, and you still manage one of those fancy Ivy Leagues. I guess I never told you this, Lil, but I'm real proud. I only wish your mother could have been here to see you off to school. She woulda been real proud, too._

_But mostly, Lily, I'm sorry I was so unfair to you. I'm sorry for you, just like I'm sorry for Sammy and Dean, that you had to grow up like you did, knowing about the monsters under your bed, in your closet. But I'm especially sorry you found out when you did…and how you did. I'll never forgive myself for that night, Lily. Never._

_ I'm sorry I made you stay back when I took the boys out hunting. I know it probably won't mean anything now, but know that it wasn't because I didn't think you could handle it. You're brilliant, Lil. You picked up everything we showed you so fast. You're strong, and you're smart, and you're quick…you'd have been great out there. I hope you didn't choose to go into biology because it was what I forced you to do, stay back and take care of Sammy and Dean when they got hurt. And I hope all those hours of research I made you do wasn't too terrible, knowing exactly what was out there, and being forced to sit and wait for it. _

_ But I know it probably was._

_ Lily, I didn't want to keep you home, worrying about us. But you looked so much like your mother that I couldn't stand to see you out there. Do you understand, Lily? Do you understand it would be like reliving the night she died over and over and over again? It was selfish of me. I see that now. But I thought I'd notice it first, get distracted, and get one of you hurt. And if I noticed it, Dean would notice before long, too. And maybe even Sam. I couldn't have you out there. It just hurt too much._

_ So, I'm sorry, Lily. I'm sorry my selfishness hurt you and pushed you away. I don't blame you at all for running, and I hope to God you can get back to your normal life after this. I know I have no right to ask you for anything now, and you don't have to listen. You can burn this letter and go right back to school, and get your doctorate and do what you do, Lily. I'd be so proud of you, and I wouldn't love you any less. That's the life I should want for you, and maybe part of me does._

_ But another part…the same part that got your brothers and I into this mess…that part knows something big is coming. That part of me knows your brothers can't handle it by themselves. And that part knows you, Lily, play a bigger part in all of this than you can possibly imagine._

_ That part of me—and I'll be honest, it's a big part, God help me. I wish it wasn't, but it is—wants you to go with them. Maybe not forever. Just for a little while. Don't think about avenging me, or anything like that. It's not your job. My time is done, and I have no regrets. What I want from you, Lily, is to go with your brothers. I can't give you much more information than that right now. You just have to trust me. I hate to ask you this, Lily. I know it's not fair, and you have every right to hate me and burn this letter. But if you trust me, Lil, even a little bit, you'll hear me out and go with them. Do what you do, Lily. Take care of your brothers for just a little while longer, and everything will work out. I promise._

_ I still feel like there's something else I should be saying, but I'm running out of time now. I can't explain that, either, but don't worry. It'll all become clear soon enough. Dean has instructions from me, too, but that won't matter, won't be necessary, if everything goes like I say. All you have to do, if you can, Lily Pad, is trust me. Stay with your brothers. _

_ I love you, Lily, so much. I am so proud of you. Know there is nothing you could do, have done, or will do to change that._

_ Just one other thing, Lily. What I said before about not having any regrets? I lied. I regret that I never got to see you grow up the way I should have. Don't take that chance from your brothers, too._

_ Love,_

_ Daddy_

_ PS—Lily. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Lily, you have to remember: when everything is at its worst, your mother knows. She always knew._

**xxxx**

**

* * *

**

"Lily? Are you okay?"

Sam and Dean stared with barely veiled anxiety at their younger sister, who in turn stared blankly at…nothing. Neither of them knew what their father's letter had said, but Sam had noticed her red-rimmed eyes when she'd returned from the airport, the piece of paper clutched in one hand. He'd sat her down, and he and Dean, together, had recounted their last year together. He knew now she should have waited, at least. Given her a chance to catch her breath. Now it was too late.

He'd started with Jess, like she'd requested, watching her face contort as she realized Jess had died the same death her mother had. Her eyes softened for an instant, and she'd seemed about to say something, but her barreled ahead. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to think about Jess's death—or his involvement—any more than he had to.

He talked about Meg, and her father, the Yellow-Eyed Demon who'd ordered them driven off the road, tortured Dean and possessed John Winchester. He told her how he himself was 'chosen' for something, he and a horde of other children with missing parents and strange abilities. He told her about his headaches, his nightmares, his visions, his growing psychic abilities. He watched her pale when he mentioned the nightmare-visions. He ignored this, too. Another decision he'd end up regretting.

Dean took over at the hospital section of the story, telling her how he suspected Dad had made a deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, traded his life for his son's. Both brothers noted Lily seemed less than surprised at this; in fact she nodded knowingly. Again, they wondered what was in the letter, but neither pressed her.

Finally, they sat back in silence, letting her soak in everything they'd told her. Only then, now that the last year's events were out in the open, all compiled into one, ninety-minute story, did Sam and Dean realize the sheer gravity of the events. Only then did they realize that weight could crush a person.

"Lily…" Sam tried again, tentatively reaching across the table to lay a hand over his sister's eerily still fingers.

She started at his touch, and looked up, blinking as if she had just come awake from a deep slumber.

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm…I'm fine." She shifted, pulled her hands into her lap, stared at the hem in her jeans. "I…I didn't know…I'm sorry, Sam…about Jess."

Sam shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. Are you okay?" She had gotten so pale…

Lily nodded again. "Yeah, sure. It's just…it's a lot."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, we know. We shouldn't have—"

Lily shook her head. "No, don't do that. Don't go back to that. I'm not a little girl anymore, Dean. I can handle this. I just need a minute."

Dean nodded solemnly. "Right. I keep forgetting," he said with a rueful smile. "Look, you want a drink or something?"

Both Lily and Sam looked up abruptly. "Dean, I'm nineteen!" blurted Lily, at the same time Sam said, "Dean, she's nineteen!"

Dean looked taken aback. "Calm down, I meant water," he said getting up from the table and going to fill a glass. "Geez, guys. Suggesting a drink for a would-be twenty-year-old, so sue me."

Lily smirked and took a swig of the tap water. "Some of us don't have time for social lives, Dean."

Dam smiled, glad to see some color returning to her face.

"Yeah, well, that's my nerd sister," Dean teased.

"Takes one to know one," prompted Sam.

"Dude. 'Takes one to know one'? What are we, stuck in the nineties?" Dean laughed. "And this from the Stanford grad."

"All they do there is surf and sleep anyway," Lily joked.

The three laughed, longer than warranted by the quasi-humorous joke. Nothing changed, but each would have sworn later they felt the tension ease and disappear with each chuckle, and the worn strands of a torn relationship began to glow with each passing second.

After a minute, when the three were sitting in comfortable silence, Lily put down her glass. "So…we gotta burn the body and leave town soon, right?"

The mood became somber again almost immediately, though it lacked the same angry tension form before.

Dean looked at her. "Don't worry about it, Lil. Uh, Lily. Sam and I'll take care of it. Just let us know when you're ready to get back to school."

Lily subconsciously fingered the letter in the pocket, shaking her head. "No. I'll stay. I mean, I want to stay. Just for the…the funeral, at least."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You sure? You don't have to. We understand…"

"He's my dad. I know what I said before, but…I wanna say goodbye."

Dean shrugged. "Well, if you're sure you wanna stay…I guess our time card isn't as packed as usual. The car's down at Uncle Bobby's house. I gotta fix it up before we can get too far, so we're sticking more or less around here for a few days. But I guess we ought to…you know, move on…sooner rather than later." He swallowed hard, then looked at his brother and sister. "Tomorrow night?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Tomorrow night."

Lily took a breath, grabbed the glass Dean had set in front of her, lifted it to her lips, then remembered she'd already drained it. Swallowing, she set it down again, and said in a voice just barely above a whisper, "Yeah. Tomorrow night."

And she touched her father's letter again.

* * *

**I've already got the next chapter written! It's an exciting one: we get to see (part one of) how Lily found out about the supernatural. Get ready for some o' that protective!Dean/Sam I know we all love. =)**


	6. Discovery, Part I

**Here we go! To celebrate the beginning of my summer: Part one of how Lily found out about her family's lifestyle. Hope you enjoy!**

**PS--Sam and Dean are not mine. As if we all didn't know.  
**

**Peace!**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: Discovery, Part One**

_"Boys, go help your Uncle Bobby finish unloading the trailer!"_

_ Lily was excited. It was one of those rare occasions where Dean and Sammy accompanied Daddy on a car trip and they all came back early, with no hurts. Dean had even promised to watch 'The Little Mermaid' with her, though Sam had refused. Again. _

_ Now it was just a matter of waiting, and if nothing else, nine-year-old Lily was used to waiting. Waiting for her turn in the bathroom, waiting for her turn to pick the cereal, waiting for first her father, then her father and Dean, and finally her father, Dean, and Sammy to come back from their long trips. This was the easy part: they were back, they were not overtired, and all they had to do was repack Uncle Bobby's trailer, and then they would be all hers again. _

_ She knew this meant waiting inside patiently by herself. She was never allowed to help with the loading and unloading of Daddy's car. The equipment was too heavy and too dangerous for her. She often wondered what kind of cars were being built and sold that she couldn't help with or even look at the parts, but she knew from experience, asking questions would get her nowhere. And while she hated waiting without her brothers, she knew that patience would serve her best in these situations. _

_ But Daddy wasn't helping Sammy and Dean and Uncle Bobby tonight. Instead, he'd come right back inside to see her. He'd indulged her by letting her run up to him and jump into his arms and he'd picked her up and spun her around for the first time in what felt like forever. It was unusual, but Lily wasn't about to complain about her father's good mood._

_ "Daddy!" she'd screamed, giggling as he lifted her high into the air. "Daddy, stop it!" she squealed as he tickled her. The trip must have gone well, for him to be so happy. She was acting several years younger than her age, she knew, but she couldn't help it. She saw her father like this so rarely, she wanted to enjoy it to its fullest. "Stop it, Daddy, stop!"_

_ Finally, he obliged, carrying her into the motel room and sitting on the couch, with her in his lap. "And how was my princess this week?" he asked, grinning down at her._

_ Lily giggled. "Daddy, that's not my name! You're s'posed to call me Lily Pad, 'member?"_

_ John laughed. "Of course, Lily Pad. Just thought I'd try something new. How 'bout you? Did you learn anything new this week?"_

_ Lily shook her head. "No, but look what I made with Sarah in arts today at school!" She dug around her in pocket for a moment, than produced a haggard looking braid of grimy yarn. "It's for you, Dad. I made ones for Sammy and Dean, too, but they probably won't wear them, huh?"_

_ John smiled down at his daughter without accepting the trinket. "Probably not, no. But I mean did you learn anything special? Maybe not at school. At home."_

_ Lily frowned as if deep in thought, idly stuffing away her yarn creation, unperturbed. "No…I was home by myself, remember? Uncle Bobby went with you to sell cars and stuff. Did you sell a lot of cars? Is that why you're so happy?"_

_ John's smile was growing a little stiff, not that overjoyed Lily noticed. "Sure, sweetie, sold lots. But no one said anything to you? On the way to school, or maybe in a dream?"_

_ Lily frowned again, this time in confusion. "No, Dad." She didn't feel much like acting like a child anymore, now that John's enthusiasm was waning. "Why do you keep asking?"_

_ "Just think really hard," John said, ignoring her question. "You don't remember anything? A message in a dream?"_

_ "No, Dad. I'm sorry. Are you okay? You're acting weird…"_

_ "I'm fine, Lily. Are _you_ okay? Because the attitude is unnecessary." All at once, John's good humor had evaporated. Lily stiffened immediately, suddenly feeling awkward on her father's lap. _

_ "I…I didn't think I was giving attitude, sir. I'm sorry—"_

_ "Not as sorry as you will be if you can't remember one damn dream, girl," John growled, standing. Lily tumbled to the floor. John towered over her. It occurred to her suddenly Sam and Dean and Uncle Bobby were still loading the trailer. It had been several minutes, but they were still outside. She couldn't hear their voices…which meant the front door was closed. And she couldn't remember closing it._

_ "D-Dad?" Lily stammered, starting to rise from the floor. Her attempts were stifled as John put a booted foot into her side. Lily yelped, but didn't scream, staring up at her father in disbelief. "Daddy?" The sound was a wheeze. It was getting difficult to breathe like it sometimes did when she got scared._

_ "Guess again, Lily Pad." Her father's voice hadn't changed, exactly, but somehow it was suddenly darker, deeper, raspier. More full of malice. There was a slam behind her, and without looking, Lily knew the single window—her last escape—had shut itself. A second later, she heard the front door bolt itself shut. _

_ Lily was shaking now, frightened. Her father hated it when she cried, she knew, but she could feel herself getting close nonetheless. "Daddy?" she tried, reverting to a childlike state without meaning to. "Daddy, what happened? What's wrong?"_

_ "Wrong again, princess," he father whispered, as he bent to grab her by the shoulder. She screamed as his fingers dug painfully into her flesh._

_ "Ow! Daddy, stop! You're hurting me! Daddy--!" Her pleas were cut off abruptly as she looked into his father's face. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, but instinct told her it was no such luck. Quite suddenly, as she looked on in horror, her father's brown eyes flashed from a deep amber to a solid black._

_ "Daddy's home!" the thing cackled. And Lily screamed. _

_

* * *

_**xxxx**

Lily awoke with a yelp, sitting bolt upright in bed. The scratchy motel sheets were wrapped so firmly around her legs and torso, it was as if she'd tried to intentionally bind herself. Her crew t-shirt stuck to her, drenched in sweat, and her bangs were plastered to her forehead. She couldn't seem to get a good breath.

Swallowing a groan, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead against them, trying to catch her breath. Already, the nightmare was fading, though the fear remained fresh. Her back was heaving with effort, and just when she thought she'd pass out—

"You alright?"

She jumped, and the voice was quick to soothe.

"It's okay. It's just me. You had a nightmare. Calm down. Take a deep breath." Unable to do anything but breath, Lily squinted through the dark. On the twin bed opposite hers, there was nothing but a rumpled pile of sheets. Shifting her view toward the sink at the other end of the room, she saw Sam's tall form approaching her, a glass of water in one hand.

"I was going to come wake you up," he said, handing her the glass. She accepted it, trying to still her shaking. "Drink. It'll help. And breathe, Lily. You're alright." He reached out to rub her back, but Lily flinched away instinctively. Sam retracted his hand, his face carefully blank.

Lily just frowned. "You…you were going to wake me up?" she gasped. "Was I…making noise?"

"Just a little," Sam said, in the same soothing tone. Lily would have laughed if she could breathe. Did he remember that from when they were kids? Or did it just come naturally? _'Maybe he took up acting in school,' _she thought drily as Sam continued. "Just whimpering and thrashing some." He paused, smiled. "I heard you start to hyperventilate. Still get those panic attacks, huh?" Lily only shrugged. It was true enough, she supposed, but she was older now. She didn't need her brothers to talk her through them. Already, she was forcing herself to calm down.

Sam continued. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

She went back to resting her chin on her knees. She closed her eyes, then opened them immediately when an unidentifiable but somehow malignant dark shape loomed behind her eyelids. "It's alright," she lied. "I'm okay. Really."

Sam smirked and sat at the edge of her bed. "May I?"

Lily offered a half smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You already are."

"Well. Manners, you know…" Sam joked quietly. There was a pause, another comfortable silence. Already, these were becoming more regular. Lily almost enjoyed it. Like having her family back. Almost. "Lily, look," Sam started. "I know…it was a lot, what we laid on you before. We shouldn't have hurled it all at you like that. And I know," he continued before she could interrupt, "that you can handle it. All I'm saying is that I know what nightmares are like. I promise, it helps to talk."

Lily paused. Considered. "I hardly remember, anyway," she said quietly. It was only half a lie.

Sam stared at her for a moment, then said, "Then drink. It helps. Not like talking, but it helps."

Lily stared at the cup in her hand for a moment, then lifted it to her lips. Expecting water, she choked quietly when she tasted…

"Coffee?" She licked her lips, then shot a sideways glance. "…with a kick?"

Sam grinned. "Decaf. Just don't tell Dean."

"D'you use his liquor?"

"It's not like it's got his name on it."

Lily laughed, and Sam followed suit. They both sat quietly as Lily sipped at Sam's miracle concoction. It did seem to help. Within minutes, she felt, her shaking had lessened. The memories of the nightmare had faded almost entirely, and she felt pleasantly sleepy and warm. For the first time, she wondered what Sam's nightmares had been like, to make his try this. She started to ask, then hiccuped.

Sam chuckled. "Tired?"

She giggled and hiccuped again. "Something like that."

Sam grinned and gently removed the half empty cup from her hand. "Halfway through, eh? I'll remember that."

"Are you _-hic-_ teasing me, Sammy?"

Sam laughed again. "Just a little bit. Get some sleep, Lil. Er, Lily. You should be okay now." She lay down, feeling half asleep already. Sam put down her cup and untangled the blankets at the foot of her bed, drawing one up over her shoulders. It was a full minute before either of them realized what he'd done without thinking.

As they waited there in the dark, considering the implications of Sam's actions (and the lack of Lily's reaction), Lily spoke up.

"Sam?" The word was slurred and muffled.

"Yeah."

"You can call me Lil. If you want."

Sam felt a smile touch his lips. "Alright, Lil. Goodnight."

"'Night, Sammy."


	7. Really Promise

**Ohhh, this took SO much longer than it should have! I've been working on some other chapters and totally forgot to update. But now this, and the next chapter or two are done. Thanks for being patient! Thanks for reading, please review! What are YOU looking for in a story? I wanna know!**

**As usual, the Winchester boys are not mine. Oh, well.**

**Peace!**

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They ran errands the next day, each of them pretending it was normal.

On the one hand, much of the 'haven't-seen-you-in-years' tension had lifted as if over night. Perhaps it was a testament to the siblings' former relationship, the ease with which they settled back into their roles; they'd spent countless hours together as children, some forced, others of their own accord, several squeezed in the backseat of the Impala, each sleeping on the other. It wasn't until Lily was about twelve when things started getting rocky. Then, two years later, she and Sammy were gone, and Dean was hunting cross-country with his father.

It was nice to think they got along so easily because they remembered how. But Lily had a sneaking suspicion they were just all still on edge about Dad's unusual death, and would take any excuse not to think about it.

Dean lasted until the late afternoon before giving in and asking her about the letter.

They'd spent the day well enough: Sam and Dean had finished checking out of the hospital, Lily taking strict notes on which antibiotics and painkillers went to who, when, and in which doses. She told herself it was good practice for when she got back to school, though she wasn't entirely convinced that was the only reason.

Then Lily had spent a good hour alternately between the phone and the computer, canceling classes, getting Amber to return library books and put things in storage. Apparently, news had spread fast among her few friends at school—namely her roommate, her crew team, and a few classmates—and everyone sent well wishes and offered to help however they could.

She opted to 'hold' the semester for now. She could resume her classes during the summer session, and pick up her remaining credits then. Lily assured them she'd be back by mid-June, though again, the words felt funny in her mouth.

For breakfast, they passed around a box of semi-stale Lucky Charms, and for lunch they stopped by another diner—different from the one Lily had left so abruptly only the day before. Already, the days were blurring together, and Lily found herself almost regretting the time she'd spent without her brothers, with or without the façade of easy perfection.

Then Dean asked about the letter, and their masks of contentedness shattered.

"What do you mean, what did it say?" The French fry she was holding dripped ketchup onto the table. The red splotch went unnoticed.

Dean shrugged almost evasively. "No need to get defensive, Lil. I just mean what did it say? Anything about Dad's death? Any reason to think this might not be over?"

"I'm not _defensive_, Dean, I just think you're being vague. Do you want me to recite the whole letter? _What's_ not over?" She knew exactly what he was talking about, of course. But some of things her father had said in the letter were…haunting. Almost prophetic. And if that were the case, they weren't any prophecies she wanted to dwell on. And there was that secret Dean had. She knew only that she was supposed to prevent that, whatever it was.

"You don't have to recite the letter, Lily. I know you have it with you."

Lily dropped her food, one hand going to her pocket where, sure enough, the letter was loving folded up. "It's my letter, Dean. You said he told you not to read it."

"Well, that was before it turned out he might have known he was going to die."

"How will reading my letter change anything? He's already dead, Dean!"

"It could help us with the hunt, Lily!"

Lily scoffed. "You mean help _you_ with the hunt."

"Guys!" Sam interrupted suddenly. "Please. We were doing so well. Dad wouldn't have wanted this. Dean, we don't even know if there _is_ a hunt, and if there was something in Lily's letter he'd wanted us to know, he would have told us. It's…it's Dad's goodbye to her. Just let her have it."

The three sat in silence, each reflecting on their own thoughts, which felt roughly buffeted by Sam's words, _'Dad's goodbye'_…. Dean spoke first, but Lily was fast on his heels.

"Look. Lily. You don't have to—"

"He said he was running out of time."

Sam and Dean both shifted to look at her. "What?"

"He said he was running out of time," Lily repeated quietly. She held the letter in her lap. It was still folded, but she didn't need to open it to know what it said. She'd read it a million times in the past twenty-four hours, and she could have torn it up and burned it now and still remember each word, every looped 'a', every jagged 'k'.

"Time to do what?" Dean pressed gently. Sam shot him a sharp look, but Lily interrupted.

"No, it's okay. I can't give you the letter. I just…I can't. It's mine. But I can tell you some of what he said. He said he was running out of time, so he couldn't give me all the answers. He said it was really important that…that I stay. That I look after you two. That I…" She trailed off, looking at Dean. He caught her eyes, looked back at her, a slight frown marring his features. Then she looked away, and the moment was gone. "He said something big was coming," she continued. "Something too big for you two to handle alone. He said…he said I was part of it somehow."

"You? How? Part of what?" This time it was Sam asking.

But Lily was out of answers. She shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I'm sorry. All I know is that I'm supposed to stay with you guys."

They were all silent again, then, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Sam said, "Is that why you decided to stay, then?" When she didn't answer, he went on, "You don't owe him anything, you know. You can leave. Go back to school, forget all this…"

Lily looked up. "That's not why I'm staying," she said firmly. "I mean, maybe part of it, just as much as curiosity," she added with a somber half smile. "But…but I'm also staying because you're my family, and I'm tired of running. I can go back to school any time. I have at least a semester of leave, not including the summer. They'd understand if I didn't come back in the fall. Maybe by then, we'll have this whole thing sorted out, and going back to school won't mean running."

Dean looked at his sister, studying her for a moment before grinning. "Yeah, alright, kid. We'll see."

Sam, taking the cue from his brother, said, "So, squirt, when'd you join that fancy boat team of yours?"

"Kid? Squirt? Fancy boat team?" Lily said, incredulous. "More like when did I become six years old again…What just happened?"

"You just reinherited your older brothers," Dean answered. His tone was light, but the words were weighted. Lily hid a smile. "And we've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Very funny," Lily said tossing a now-cold French fry at her oldest brother. He ducked at the last minute, and ketchup splattered the window behind him.

"Smooth," he commented.

"Shut up!" Lily kicked him under the table. Sam flinched.

"Hey! I didn't ask to be part of this!"

"Thus says the middle sibling," Lily laughed, throwing a French fry at him. "You're always a part of it."

"Dude, that's why it's the middle," Dean added.

"You guys are gonna get us thrown out!" Sam complained. He hadn't been so lucky, and was now trying to massage ketchup out of his hair.

"Too late," murmured Dean, as a portly, irate looking waitress sauntered over. "Hope you enjoyed lunch. Time to go, kids!" He stood and hastily threw a few bills on the table. By the time the nurse had pushed through the crowded diner to their booth, the Winchester kids were already rumbling down the highway in Bobby's old truck, laughing to themselves as if the five-year hiatus had never occurred.

**

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**

"You're quiet." Sam's voice shattered her reverie. She hadn't heard him come up behind her.

"Yeah, well, I do that sometimes," Lily said. The words lacked heat—they weren't defensive, or aggressive, but they were too contemplative to be a joke.

"I hadn't noticed," Sam said with a smirk. He walked around her to lean on the beater truck, folding his arms over his chest and squinting into the golden-orange rays of the setting sun.

The three had parked outside the hospital almost an hour ago to release their father's personal effects and all that. Dean had gone inside to, 'cross the t's and dot the i's,' as he'd put it. As far as the nursing staff knew, John Winchester (Frank Brown, or Thomas Matthews, or whatever his name was today) was being transported home for a traditional funeral. In fact, it wasn't really a lie. The Winchesters had no 'home' and the kids were sure as hell giving him the Winchester Special when it came to funerals.

Lily grinned and punched her brother in the arm. "I'm _thinking, _if you _must_ know."

"Of course I must," Sam said lightly. "I'm the annoying older brother. And thinking about what?"

Lily's grin faded slightly. She shrugged. "I guess…I guess about when I found out about what Dad—what you and he and Dean, really—did when you were 'out doing car stuff'."

Sam's grin disappeared suddenly, and Lily turned to look at him.

"Nothing bad," she said quickly. "Just remembering."

"Nothing bad? How can you look back on the night and see anything _good_?"

Lily shrugged and turned back toward the sunset. "I learned the truth."

"That's good?"

"It's something. I'm a Winchester, Sam, name change or no. Consider it…initiation."

"Not even Dean's 'initiation' went like that."

"It's not like I'm the first to get dragged into the hunt that way, Sammy."

"Sam. And no, but it didn't help that you were nine years old."

"You were eight."

"You didn't speak for days afterward," Sam continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And Dad…he felt awful for…for weeks. Months. Years, even. I don't think he ever forgave himself…"

Lily's felt her stomach twinge as she remembered his letter. "I'm sure he knows it wasn't his fault."

Sam didn't look at her. "Yeah…"

Glancing at him, she thought she was maybe beginning to see that taking care of her brother's would start earlier than she thought.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Lil."

"What was she like?"

Sam lifted an eyebrow, confused. "Mom?" It was the last question he'd been expecting, given the circumstances.

Lily shook her head once. "Jess."

"Oh." No, _that _was the last question he'd been expecting.

When he remained silent, Lily looked up at him, surprised to see his face had changed. She felt guilty, then, not only for provoking him into such pain—because that was what she saw in his face, pain and confusion, like he was lost, far away somewhere, and hurting—but because she understood then how much he'd loved her. Lily hadn't even known about the girl who Sammy had been planning to marry.

She tried to remember the precise moment her family had fallen apart, and couldn't. "Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't think…I _wasn't _thinking, and…"

"Why do you ask?" Sam said. He didn't sound angry or accusing. Just tired.

Lily hesitated before shifting closer to him, looping an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his chest. She felt him stiffen under her touch for a moment, perhaps unused to the physical contact, or else just to having a little sister. She didn't care. The lost look hadn't left his eyes, and she felt the need to anchor him to the moment.

"She meant a lot to you, Sammy. I just thought I should know her."

Sam was quiet for a long time, and Lily was just beginning to wonder whether she'd messed up, when he draped his arm over her shoulders and said, "You would have liked her, Lil. You would have gotten along well, I think. And you'd finally have that sister you wished for when we were kids."

Lily laughed, remembering the day in the park, the soggy hole Sam had dug for her when he was only eight, calling it a wishing well.

"Nah, I was wrong," she said.

"Wrong?"

"Yeah. I like my two brothers just fine."

One corner of Sam's mouth quirked up. "Promise?"

Lily didn't skip a beat, closing her eyes as she all but reveled at the invocation of the old not-quite-game she and Sam had used to play when things got rough.

"Promise."

"Really promise?"

Lily's reply was interrupted as Dean emerged behind them. Behind him, there was a stretcher covered with a white sheet. Each of them pretended to ignore it.

"Hang on, lemme just check myself back in," he said, stopping in front of them for a moment, then turning back to the hospital.

Lily and Sam looked at each other, then back at their older brother, straightening quickly.

"Wait, Dean, why? What's wrong?"

"It's the diabetes," Dean answered over his shoulder. "You two are so damn sweet, you just pushed it over the edge."

Lily raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam, who smirked, bent, and handed her a pebble from the ground. She cocked her arm, and with aim bordering on eerie perfection, hit Dean in the back of the head. She then grinned and turned to look at Sam. _'Really promise,'_ she mouthed, before glancing back at a bemused looking Dean.

"Sorry!" she called brightly. "It's the epilepsy. You just pushed it over the edge."

**

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**

They'd brought her Ruff.

Well, Sam had, anyway. Dean hadn't known, or else he would have laughed it off…and probably smuggled the tattered thing along, anyway.

But Sam, blushing so deeply Lily could make out the pink even in the dim firelight, Sam had carried Ruff along, state to state. He'd had it, he said, since the year after she'd left.

"Sammy…" Lily said, still holding her beloved toy, and her only memory of her mother, as though it were made of gold leaf. "But…why?"

Sam shrugged, looked backwards over his shoulder. "Lil, you're my kid sister. I mean, after four years with Dean…it was nice to be the older one for once."

Lily looked up sharply with a grin on her face. "Oh, nice," she said, shoving him.

Sam smiled, but continued. "Really. I felt…responsible for you, y'know? Protective. It was…it was weird when you left. I thought you were following me, at first. Being the little sister you were, just copying me and running. But when I realized you were your own person, and you weren't coming back…" _'I understood how Dad felt,' _he wanted to say. But he didn't. "When I realized you weren't coming back, I wanted something to remember you by." He gestured toward Ruff. "I know it sounds cliché, but the way you towed that thing around when you were a kid…" He smiled, as if remembering something. "The way I could just hand it to you and make everything better…I had to take him with me, Lil. I think…at first I thought I'd get up the courage to come visit you some day. The way things ended with me and Dad…hell, the way things ended with _you _and Dad…" He shrugged again. "I thought we'd understand each other. We were in the same boat. And we both needed some company.

"But then…you know…Time went on. I never forget, exactly, I just…"

Lily nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." She looked at Ruff again, still as grimy as he had been, when she'd made the conscious decision to leave him behind almost six years ago. Then she stepped forward and hugged her brother. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam hugged her back. "Sam. And no problem. Thought he might be useful," he added, and they both reluctantly turned toward the bier Dean had insisted building on his own.

John Winchester was already settled atop the bier. In fact, the whole thing could have been done and over with by now, Sam suspected, but Dean was having a hard time. Not with the preparations…but the letting go.

Sam had known he would. Dean fell to the extreme side of the Winchester Emotional Imbalance Bar, beyond both Lily and himself. Sam wore most everything right out on his sleeve, with his handling of Jessica's death as a unique exception. Lily…well, she'd changed, but the way she'd woken up after her nightmare the previous night, and her increasing silence throughout the day made him think he still knew her. Lily retreated within herself whenever things got tough. She didn't deny them, or at least not like Dean. She didn't stubbornly struggle through her days as if nothing had happened. But then she didn't react like Sam, either. She was somewhere between them, he thought. She reacted in silence. Almost perpetual shock.

But Dean…He'd once broken a rib and hadn't said anything for three days. It hadn't been too long ago, either. A few months after Sam had left Stanford, just before they'd found dad. They'd been fighting a shapeshifter—a skin-walker, really—and it had attacked Dean. For three days, he'd swallowed grunts of pain, pale whenever he moved too quickly, and then deny everything any time Sam asked. Finally, suspicious, Sam had just pushed him into a wall. The resulting cry—though a little more profane than what Sam had been expecting—was all the evidence he needed to take his brother to a hospital.

Dean was the kind of person who would truck right on through as though nothing were wrong, thinking he was doing a fantastic job of hiding it, when really his apathy screamed the opposite. Like now. He'd been working for hours on the bier, sweating in the warm night air, pretending as though he still had something to do, when all was left was to say goodbye.

Lily looked at Sam, then handed him Ruff. "Keep him," she said. "Just for a second. I'll need him later."

Then she turned and walked toward Dean, who was still snapping tree branches over his knee. Sam couldn't hear what she said, but watching her he suddenly understood how she'd fallen into the her role again, suddenly, as if over night. Somehow, their burdens fell on her shoulders. Just as John had instilled it in his boys to hunt, to shoot first, ask later, to never trust movement in the shadows, he'd told Lily to watch out for her brothers. As if he knew he hadn't raised them to deal with themselves, with their own emotions, appropriately. For a moment, Sam almost wished she'd been there after Jess…

But no. That was selfish. It might have been John's job for Lily, but it didn't make it her responsibility.

He watched as Lily went to Dean, got his attention by gently tugging the jagged stick from his hands, slowly, deftly moving closer as she did. It was smart—they both knew Dean wouldn't let anyone close now, not physically, or emotionally. But the mini tug-of-war he started put Lily right there, so when she finally got the branch from him, dusted the splinters from his blistered hands, and then hugged him, drawing him closer to the bier, he had no choice but to follow, looking somewhere between dumbfounded and shocked.

No one said anything as they watched John Winchester burn, bones salted, eyes closed. Not out loud, anyway. There wasn't much left.

But Lily left a tiny note on her father's chest, scrawled hastily on the back of the receipt left over from lunch. It wasn't much, but to her, it meant the world, and she hoped John got to read it one day.

It said: _I forgive you, Daddy. I love you. Lily Pad._


	8. Discovery, Part II

**Hello! Tried to have this chapter up fast, since I've kept y'all waiting. I'm a little concerned that the all the different flashbacks are getting confusing...? Once the action picks up a bit more in the current story/we have a better idea of Dean/Sam/Lily's relationship before everyone split up, they'll slow down a bit. No worries. Anyway, lemme know what you think. Thanks for reading!**

**Winchester boys ≠ mine.**

**Peace!**

**3 CA**

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**_John Winchester had always taught his little girl to be strong and independent. He knew one day, she'd be helping her brothers, and none of them could afford weakness then. He thought he'd done well: Lily didn't cry much, and she wasn't scared of the dark. She knew how to put herself to bed, wake herself up, get dressed and get to school by herself. She knew not to talk to strangers, and how to defend herself long enough for help to arrive if a stranger decided to talk to her._

_But what she did not know was what John had been trying to avoid teaching her all along. What she did not know was what John knew she'd need to know sooner or later. What she did not know was what John prayed she wouldn't need to know until later, much, much later. And what she did not know might result in the death of his daughter at his own hands before his own eyes._

_Surely, Lily's indirect training was of some use now. After all, she hadn't broken down and balled herself up into a corner. She hadn't collapsed sobbing the first time he'd hurled her into a wall, cracking her skull against the drywall with a sickening sound. John was utterly helpless to the demon, which had been inhabiting him from the time he'd driven with Bobby and his boys home. He'd been fighting against it for hours, exhausted by the effort. And now that he was home, it was attacking his little girl, like he'd feared from the beginning, and he didn't have the energy to keep it from killing her._

_But Lily, his little Lily, didn't give up, though her body shook from head to toe. He'd never in his life seen her look so frightened, and he could tell she was on the verge of panic. The demon interrogated her relentlessly, asking her over and over again about her dreams. John didn't know what he was getting at, but it didn't matter for now. All that mattered was keeping the monster inside of him from slaughtering his little girl._

_When John's body approached Lily again, she ducked under his legs and ran for the window yet again, pounding against it with all her might. But she was small, and she was scared. She couldn't speak, and she could barely reach the window. John was growing frustrated and anxious. Where were Bobby and the boys? Why hadn't they realized something was wrong yet?_

_It was then he noticed the door was shaking, as if being pounded from the other side. Lily hadn't noticed it yet—she still thought the others were ignoring her. It broke his heart, but even worse was the idea that he knew the demon was the one keeping the door closed._

_"I'm not gonna kill you, brat, so sit still." The demon made the words sounds cold and hard. John wouldn't have believed him, either. Lily ran again, darting from the locked window, which was apparently too high from the outside for the others to reach._

_Lily was fast, but John was faster, or at least bigger. He grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to his eye level. Lily whimpered in fear and pain. John could tell she was struggling not to cry._

'Baby,'_ he thought weakly. _'Just hang on…'

_"Look, kid, here's the thing. You may not know much now about who you are, but you will."_

_"I don't know anything! Let me go, please! Let my daddy go!" Lily pleaded._

_The demon laughed, throwing back John's head long enough to his eyes to return to their normal brown, however mirthless their gaze._

_"Oh, but Lily Pad, I **am** your daddy!"_

_"N-no, you're not!" Lily argued. But she didn't sound convinced._

_The thing laughed again. "Nope. Oh, well. Guess it serves you right for being too stupid to know the truth, huh?" the demon taunted. John knew instantly what it planned to do._

'No, please. Dear God, please, not her. Not yet. It's too soon…'

_"I don't…I don't know what you mean," Lily hiccupped._

_"I know. Your daddy told you all the monsters under your bed, in the closet, the witches in the trees, the scary guys in the dark…he told you they were all fake, didn't he? All in your imagination?"_

_Lily just stared. The demon laughed._

_"Well, he lied, Lily. They're real. All of them. Everything. And I'm one of them."_

_"N-no," Lily said, her breathing picking up. Even at her age, the girl was plagued with panic attacks. She'd start hyperventilating, and black out if they went untreated. "Daddy said—"_

_"Then how do you explain me, Lily Pad?"_

_"You're lying!"_

_"Oh?" The demon's eyes went black again. "Am I? And I just know everything about your daddy by magic?"_

_Lily was shaking, having trouble speaking now. "P-please," she said weakly. "Just let my daddy go. I wanna go to bed…"_

_"Well, I can't let your daddy go just yet," the demon said. "Gotta keep the meat suit for a shield, y'know. When your friend Bobby and your brothers get in here, I imagine they are not gonna be too happy with me, so I'll keep up appearances for a little while longer. But I can let you go if you promise me one thing?"_

_John's heart leapt._ 'No, Lily. God, no. Don't.'

_The demon laughed. "Ooh, your daddy's scared now."_

_Lily shook her head. Her vision was going funny and her arms were like when she was at the dentist, and they put the heavy lead bib over her. She felt like she was going to fall asleep, though she couldn't remember being sleepy. "Daddy…Daddy's not afraid of anything."_

_"If you say so," the demon said. "Anyway, I'll let you go, you just remember, Lily Winchester. You're in it, now. For good. I know you don't know what it means, but you will. And one day, those dreams, those funny feelings in your tummy, they'll start making sense. And when they do, we'll be back. Maybe me, maybe one of my brothers. Either way, you better start remembering what you see and feel, or Dean and little Sammy won't be so lucky."_

_Lily, even in her oxygen-deprived stupor, looked up sharply at this. But before she could react, there was a loud sound as the door flew off his hinges and the window shattered. Lily dropped roughly to the floor, and, still gasping, darted to the first hiding place she could find. At the same time, John Winchester's body bolted from the room, leaping through the now-broken window._

_Sam, Dean, and Bobby stood on the threshold. Bobby took hold of Dean's shoulders. "I'll go after your dad, boys. He won't get far. You boys go find Lily." He paused. They'd heard everything that had happened in the small room. "Boys…be gentle."_

**

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**

"You think we should send her back?"

It had been just over a week since the Winchester kids had burned and buried their father's remains. For days, they'd laid low, Dean, fixing up the Impala, Sam, half following leads which kept turning up empty, and Lily making calls back to school about rescheduling her finals. Their conversations had become stilted again, and Lily kept talking about going back to school, though she had yet to make any solid plans.

Then, not two days ago, the boys had received a message on John's phone. It was from a woman named Ellen who knew what their father did, and was asking for help. Sam had been iffy, but Dean, having finished with the Impala, jumped at the chance of something to do. Lily hadn't made flight plans yet, so she was tagging along with the boys, promising (without really believing herself) that she would find an airport in the area.

Now the Impala was headed down the proverbial two-lane highway toward Wisconsin, the youngest Winchester sleeping fitfully in the back seat. Which was just as well, since she hadn't slept much since John's death.

Dean glanced over at his brother with his characteristic smirk. "Aw, c'mon, Sammy. I know you'd love having a second brother, but I don't think that's how it works."

Sam gritted his teeth at his brother's light tone. He'd always known Dean got funny whenever emotions were involved. He joked and laughed, and did whatever he could to shift the attention from himself, but he never realized it made things worse—for everyone.

"What the hell, Dean? You think this is cute? This evasive thing you're doing? Always joking and laughing like nothing's bothering you? I don't buy it for a second, Dean."

Dean smirked. "Look, honey, your concern is touching, but I'm fine."

"Bull. You're falling apart, man. I can see it, and so can Lily."

"What, did I miss out on the sleepovers? You guys tellin' secrets about me?"

"Dean--"

"You want to send her back, Sam?" Dean shot back, all the lightness gone from his voice. "Give her what she wants, let her run away? Let her out on her own? Is that your idea of protecting her?"

"Exactly!"

"Yeah, because being alone really helped Jess!"

The words were out before he'd realized what he said. When he did, he regretted it. Sam was silent. Dean stopped the car, closed his eyes, drew a hand over his face.

"Sam…"

"Forget it," Sam said. "Just proves my point. You're not 'handling' Dad's death, and neither is she."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Dean, she's our sister! We just…dragged her from everything she knew, threw her in the middle of this family bullshit again, and then told her dad was killed by a demon—probably the same one that killed Mom. This is the fifth nightmare she's had this week! We have to send her back."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, I'm not sending her back to that freak show like this."

"Then what? Just let her burn herself out? God, Dean, I understand you, but Lily?"

"Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it, Sammy? You were always the one who talked her through shit like this. Besides, you said it yourself: I'm not taking Dad's death too damn well, either. All I want to do is kill every fucking demon I can find 'til we gank the one that took him."

"I—" Sam broke off.

"You what, Sam?" Dean said, sounding tired. In the back seat, Lily had settled. Almost.

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"That's it! What you said!" Sam suddenly sounded excited. Dean was confused.

"Sammy, man, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I mean we take her on a hunt. If nothing else, she'll be tired enough to get some real sleep at night."

Dean stared in utter disbelief. His little brother must have hit his head, or else he was handling John's death as poorly as the rest of them.

"What the hell, man? Are you crazy? We can't take Lily on a hunt!"

"Why not?" Sam shot back, obviously caught up in the idea. He showed no signs of turning back. "She's got all the training. She knows how to handle a shot gun, she can track like no one's business—"

Dean shook his head. "No. I'm not taking her on a hunt. Dad wanted us to protect her from all this."

Now it was Sam's turn to strike low. "Because lying to her worked out so well the last time?" Dean only stared, dumbfounded. He still had nightmares about the night Lily had found out about the business. About the way she refused to look at, or even talk to her father for weeks on end…at the way John looked whenever his nine-year-old daughter flinched away from his embrace…

Sam continued. "Dean, Dad's not here. That's the point. C'mon, think about it. We still gotta find the thing that killed Mom and Jess. More now than ever. And we're one man short."

"You want to replace Dad with_ Lily_?"

Sam shook his head. "Of course not. We'd watch out for her, Dean. Obviously. And if it got too rough, we'd send her back. All I'm saying is she's a lot like you. The hunts could help take her mind off things. It'd be better than leaving her locked up at the motel, waiting for us. She hated that as a kid. What makes you think it'd be any easier now that she's older? Now that Dad's gone?"

Dean could feel himself losing. He was suddenly so tired. "Sam, Dad wouldn't have wanted this for her. It'd be rough on her, yeah, but it's better than…the alternative…"

"Is it?" Sam pressed. "C'mon, Dean. Dad never would have trained her if he hadn't thought—if he hadn't _known_—she would be hunting with us one day. How do you know he _didn't_ want it for her?" Dean remained silent, and Sam took his opportunity. "Just one shot. That's all I'm asking. We'll try it. If she gets better, if the nightmares stop, and she sleeps at night…we can see what happens from there. If not, if it's too much…we can send her back to school."

Dean was silent for a long moment, the idling Impala the only noise shared between them. Finally, he spoke. "Alright," he said finally. "We'll try it. One hunt. But she stays with us." Dean glanced back over his shoulder unnecessarily before pulling into the empty right lane again. "But, Sam," he warned. "If anything goes wrong, you take her and you run, okay? Promise me."

Sam nodded. "Alright."

* * *

**Still following? I hope so! Let me know if it's too confusing!**


	9. Waiting

**Sorry, guys! I've had this uploaded for DAYS, but with graduation and closing nights, I've had no life. Anyway. This one is a little longer than most of my other chapters. A glimpse of a 'hunt' from Lily's POV. Thanks to twilightgirl00000001**** for a great idea. See? I really DO use your reviews. Keep it up! Thanks for reading. **

**No Winchesters for me. =/**

**Peace!**

**3 CA**

**

* * *

**From the outside, the Harvelle's Roadhouse looked like any other, run-of-the-mill, middle-of-nowhere pubs. Ragged and worn down, it was the kind of place you only went if you knew someone…or you were desperate.

Sam, Dean, and Lily were both.

They straggled in a little after two AM, Lily and Dean rubbing sleep from their eyes, and Sam looking more than ready to collapse. There was a woman behind the bar, drying a few glass mugs.

"We're closed. Come back tomorrow," she said briefly, her tone at once commanding and amiable. She woman looked to be in her early forties, and had the kind of expression that made Lily cringe from even the thought of disobeying her. But of course, Dean had other ideas.

"We're looking for a woman named Ellen," he said, gesturing for Sam to take a seat. Sam complied; Lily stayed with him.

"Know anyone by that name?" Dean continued, squinting around the dimly lit area. "She'd be around here, often, I guess. This is the address our dad gave us." He paused suddenly, swallowed hard. "Family friend, see. I—"

"Dean?" she woman suddenly said, setting the glass down. "Dean Winchester? And Sammy?"

Dean frowned and looked back around at his siblings before turning to face the woman, his glance both confused and apprehensive. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ellen. Ellen Harvelle. And you're John Winchester's boys." She glanced over Dean's shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "Which means you must be Lily." The woman whistled and shook her head, putting a hand on her hip. "You sure do look a hell of a lot like your mama."

Lily blushed and was about to respond when Dean spoke up. "So, you sent us the message to be here, then? That Ellen?"

Ellen nodded. "One 'n' only. Though I sent that message to your daddy. He outside? Still got that damn Impala?"

The Winchester's didn't answer, but the same haunted looks must have passed over all their faces, because Ellen's smile disappeared.

"Your daddy's not here, is he?" she asked cautiously, though looking at her face, Lily could tell the woman already knew the answer. When none of the Winchester's spoke, Ellen continued, "Where is he? 's he alright?"

Neither Sam nor Dean showed any signs of answering, so Lily said, "We burned him four days ago."

Ellen nodded sadly. "Well, I'm real sorry for your loss. I called him—you—because I gotta job here I can't quite figure out. But if you boys are busy…"

"We'll take it," Sam said quickly. Neither he nor Lily missed the look Dean shot at his younger brother. Both, however, ignored it.

Ellen nodded again and set the glass she'd been drying behind the bar. "Well, c'mon, then. I gotta coupla people you kids oughtta meet." She turned to head into the back room. "Lily? You come, too."

Lily nodded obediently. She wouldn't let her brothers go anywhere without her, of course, but this Ellen woman obviously didn't understand the Winchester dynamic. Lily didn't hunt. Lily waited.

* * *

**_Somewhere in Nevada. Nine years ago._  
**

_They should have been back two days ago._

_At ten years old, Lily hated a lot of things. She hated homework. She hated going to bed early, and waking up for school even earlier. She hated it when her brothers, fourteen and eighteen, teased her, or ignored her, or went to their school and left her behind. But all these things paled in comparison to waiting for them to come back._

_Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised. It was the same thing every time: John, Dean, and Sam Winchester would leave on car business—only now she was old enough, had been for a year, to know the truth. They'd leave to go on a hunt, once she had helped gather enough evidence. Her birthday present on her tenth birthday had been an old computer. Most ten-year-old girls would have flipped. Lily had to wait until her father was gone to cry. She knew what the computer was for, and she hated it._

_But, then, like now, she hadn't said a word. Then, like now, she'd obediently looked up whatever Daddy asked. This time, it was a wendigo. The thing hid in the trees and killed and ate people. It had claws and teeth and was dangerous in the day, when Daddy was at his best. But at night…_

_She'd begged them not to go. She'd done her work—she knew it had killed twelve hikers in the last ten years, six of them in the last month. And no, the hikers didn't know what her daddy did. But the thing had been human once. It knew anger. It knew vengeance. If it knew Daddy and Dean and Sammy were hunting it…_

_Lily's breath hitched again, and she scowled. "Stop it," she told herself fiercely. "Stop it, Lily. Get over it. Daddy hates it when you cry, and you're not even the one doing the hard work."_

_Because it wasn't hard. She convinced herself of that every time her father and brother's—her invincible heroes—limped through the front door of whatever hole-in-the-wall motel they chose to grace with their presence. **She** wasn't the one icing a broken nose, she thought as she forced Sammy to lie back with a bag of ice pressed to his face. **She** wasn't the one who'd caught a claw in the stomach, she reminded herself as she stitched together Dean's side, trying hard not to blur her vision with tears every time he flinched. **She** wasn't the one who'd broken a hand, she whispered internally, snipping the end of the bandage she'd wrapped around John's fingers. Her anxiety was selfish, and it only got in the way. She ought to be grateful she didn't have to go through what they did, and she was foolish to want to take it on herself in their place. Of this, she was certain. Mostly certain._

_All she had to do was sit and wait. All she had to do was have the beds ready, the sheets cleaned, the first aid kit full, the kitchen stocked. At ten years old, it wasn't too much to ask. Even if she did hate waiting._

_She was about to tell herself again how waiting was the worst part, when the door slammed open, and she was forced to reconsider as John's voice, husky with exhaustion and pain, cried out, "Lily! Hurry!"_

_Lily's tears evaporated the second her feet hit the floor. '_I missed you, too, Daddy.'

**xxxx**

_To her credit, Lily didn't panic at first. Somehow, someone who was not Lily—Lily wasn't really there; if anything, Lily was watching the whole thing happen to someone else, where another little girl who looked just like her was facilitating the action—knew what to do. This Lily grabbed all of Sammy's gear and helped John walk him to the bed, where he collapsed, half conscious. This Lily pulled up a chair for her father, then guided Dean—who was awake, but confused, and kept saying the same thing over and over—to the other bed._

_It wasn't until that Lily looked around at her family—her younger brother who lay still and barely conscious on one bed, her older brother babbling incoherently opposite him. And then their father, who was supposed to protect and care for them all—not Lily—slumping in his chair, already half-conscious, and bleeding through the leg of his pants. It was then ten-year-old Lily returned with a whimper._

_"Daddy…" she said quietly, feeling her breath hitch. Suddenly, she got that breathing-through-a-throat-full-of-cotton feeling. She took smaller, shallower breaths to compensate, but it didn't help. Her head felt too heavy, and she tottered. She was going to pass out._

_'Please, no,' she thought desperately. 'Not now. They'll die.'_

_The thought only made her feel as if someone was smothering her, and she was nearly on her knees, before John barked out in the same wounded voice, "Lily! C'mon, baby, stay with me. You can do this, you hear me? Think…" His voice faltered. Lily knew he was in pain, and flinched. "Think what I told you. Calm down. Breathe. Think."_

_Lily closed her eyes, trying to right her breathing. There was no one around to play the color game with her now. Dean was out of it, Sammy was unconscious, and it looked like Daddy was headed that way, too. She'd have to fix this herself._

_Opening her eyes, half focusing on her breathing, the other on what she knew of emergency medical care, she staggered toward her fist aid kit, ready and open on the floor._

**_Step one: Stop the bleeding._**

_Lily had assessed the other Winchesters as they'd come in. It was something she did now without thinking, even if it was only the boys returning from school, or waiting outside to pick her up. Only a year, and the action was inbred: she'd give both her brothers, and her father, if he was around, a good once over before greeting them. In any case, from what she'd seen, that meant treating Daddy first, which, though she'd never say it out loud, was a relief. Maybe it was because he never cried, or because he could always tell her what to do if he forgot, but somehow, treating him was less terrifying than her brothers._

_As it turned out, he only had a bad twisted ankle and a calf that required some stitching. Lily found her hands surprisingly still as she cleaned away the dirt and blood and sewed her father closed. By the time she'd finished and helped him to the couch, the pain meds had taken effect. He was out cold—she was on her own now._

**_Step two: Assess any head injuries._**

_She looked at Dean, who was sitting, looking listless. He still appeared to be mumbling under his breath, but she couldn't hear him. For a moment, she felt her breathing catch, and thought she'd lose control again. Then she remembered her dad's voice, his military tone, walked dutifully forward._

_"Dean?" she squeaked, clearing her throat before trying again. "Dean." She laid a hand on his knee to get his attention._

_He seemed surprised to see her there. "Lil?"_

_She almost cried, she was so relieved. "Hey, Dean," she said gently, knowing if he was concussed, as she expected, he was likely confused as well. "Are you okay? Do you remember what happened? Does your head or neck hurt?"_

_He stared at her for a long moment, then said, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"_

_Lily closed her eyes, struggled once more not to burst into tears. "Not right now, Dean. It's nighttime. I…I'll go to school tomorrow." It was a lie. "Right now, I'm gonna see if you hit your head, okay?"_

_She carefully crawled up onto the bed next to him and reached one small hand around the back of his head. He was talking to himself again; she couldn't understand what he was saying, but he caught '…gotta tell Sammy…' and, '…Dad's shotgun…' But he couldn't—didn't try to, really—hide the wince when Lily's fingers grazed the lump at his hairline._

_She had the bag of ice, wrapped in a stolen dishtowel, ready._

_"Dean, listen," she said, her voice hoarse with worry. "I need to check on Sammy, okay? You hit your head. You need to keep this ice on it, and when I come back, I'll bring some medicine, okay? It'll stop hurting." When he didn't answer, she pressed the bag of ice into his hand, and put his hand to his forehead. "Please, Dean. Just hold it there for a minute. I'll right back, I promise."_

_Dean stared at her. "Lil? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"_

_Lily turned away before the tears could come."I'll be back, Dean."  
_

**_Step three: Tend to those who have lost consciousness. _**

_Sammy was last, and though he had come in just barely awake, the few minutes on the bed seemed to have revive him some. Lily was selfishly glad for it._

_"Sammy?"_

_He looked at her through half lidded eyes and smiled. He looked too pale._

_"Hey, Lil. I'm alright. Just heat exhaustion."_

_Lily nodded, swallowing hard. She trusted Sam, and was glad he was awake enough to at least talk to her. Sometimes, when he was okay, he helped her with the medical stuff. But she was afraid he was playing down how he felt to keep her from panicking._

_As if reading her thoughts, Sam continued. "Really, Lily. Just give me some ice water and a cold towel, and…help me get this shirt off, and I'll be fine. I promise."_

_Lily nodded again, feeling herself shrinking, coming to edge of a breakdown like she always did when Daddy and her brothers came home injured. But she complied, finding the largest water bottle she could in their father's pack and filling it to the brim with ice and water. This she brought back to Sam first, grabbing a hand and tugging him up when he couldn't sit by himself to drink. She watched him drink the first half, Adam's apple bobbing greedily, as he took is sips as small as he could manage._

_Then, before he could lay down again, she forced him to drink the rest before refilling it. The heat exhaustion was likely due, at least in part, to dehydration, and Lily knew if she let that slide, she'd be responsible for a dreaded trip to the hospital._

_While Sam was working on the second bottle, Lily went a got a towel from the tiny motel bathroom, threw it in the tub, and turned on the cold water, leaving it running for a moment while she came back and helped Sam with his shirt. It was then he noticed her hands shaking._

_"Lily? You okay?"_

_She nodded, sniffed. 'No, please no. Wait until Sammy and Dean are asleep.' Her brothers hated to see her cry, too, though she thought it was for maybe a different reason. In any case, she knew from experience if they thought she was worried, they wouldn't get any rest. "Really, Sammy, I'm okay."_

_Sam shifted on his bed. He was looking a little better now that he'd cooled off some. "Here," he offered. "Sit down for a second."_

_Lily took a step back. "But Dean…and your towel…"_

_"We'll both be okay if you relax for a minute. You look awful. When's the last time you slept?" Lily on shrugged; Sam continued. "It's been two hours you've been working on us, you know."_

_Lily hadn't realized that, and didn't want to. Looking at the clock never helped. She always felt either exhausted or overwhelmed, and made everything worse._

_"C'mon, Lil. Two minutes. Sit."_

_She shook her head. "I don't want to."_

_"Yes, you do," challenged Sam gently. He smiled. "C'mon, I don't have the energy to pull you up here, Lil. Come sit." His face changed, then, and Lily recognized it immediately. It was the same face he gave Dean or Daddy whenever he and Lily wanted to order pizza, or stay up late while the older Winchesters were gone on a hunt. Lily didn't know it yet, but that look would stay with Sam for years to come. "Please?"_

_Lily complied reluctantly. As soon as she was seated next to him, the tears started. Seconds later, she was gasping for breath._

_Sam, anticipating this, put a hand on her back, rubbing in small, firm circles. "Breathe, Lil," he commanded gently. "You're alright. Just breathe. Put your head between your knees…Good girl. You're alright." Sam knew he could have said just about anything as long as he maintained the calm, reassuring tone of voice. Nothing sparked her to panic like her family in trouble, especially when she felt responsible. But these attacks were also the easiest to waylay. "I'm okay, see, Lily?" He waited until her breathing had calmed some, then turned her face to look at him. "See? Better already. And Daddy and Dean, too. You did good. Everyone is fine. Good as new tomorrow."_

_Lily, who looked doubtful, sniffed and ran her sleeve under her nose. "Promise?"_

_"Promise."_

_"Really promise?"_

_Sam smiled, and Lily saw he meant it, even through his pain and exhaustion. She had never been more fiercely glad for Sammy—the buffer between herself and everything her father stood for, than when he replied, "Really promise."_

**xxxx**

_When John Winchester woke the next day, sore, but in one piece, the first thing he did was to check on his kids. Dean woke with hardly a touch, likely still in hunting mode from the past few days._

_He seemed dazed, but was quick to recall last night's events, and most of what had lead up to his knock on the head. "Dad? You okay?"_

_"Fine, son. You?"_

_Dean nodded slowly, wincing. John's hand found the lump at his hairline before Dean's did. "That'll hurt for another day or two," he said, expertly feeling around the wound with his fingers, "but the swelling's gone down."_

_Dean nodded again. "Yeah, I know. That's Lily for ya. Fuckin' genius of a ten year old."_

_John only chuckled as he half limped to where his two youngest had curled up in the second bed. The bed was still made—Sammy had fallen asleep warm, without the covers, then. Lily was curled into him, as close as she could be without touching him. The wet towel she'd laid over him, as well as the condensation from the melted bags of ice packed around his torso, had soaked into her shirt. Looking at her drawn face, he could tell she'd fallen asleep at the brink of exhaustion, and that just recently._

_He sighed and pushed aside his thoughts for the moment before waking his younger son. "Sam? Sammy? Can you hear me, son?"_

_Sam came awake slower than Dean, though his eyes looked clearer. "'Mornin'," he mumbled groggily. "Everyone okay?"_

_John nodded. "Feeling alright? Weak? Dizzy?"_

_Sam shook his head. "Hungry," he admitted, and Dean laughed as Sam's stomach loudly agreed._

_"Said the man-boy," taunted Dean as Sam scowled at him. "Figures."_

_Sam looked like he was about to argue, then reconsidered, remembering the yet-sleeping form beside him. "Dad, what about Lily? I think she just fell asleep about an hour ago."_

_Dean nodded. "She was with me all night," he said. "Woke me up every couple hours, 'n' everything." John didn't miss the pride in his son's voice. He smiled, despite himself._

_"And she was still awake when I went to sleep around 5AM." They all turned in unison to study the flickering numbers of the cheap motel alarm clock—10:07 AM. It was late for a Winchester morning, but then they hadn't gotten in until around 2AM, and Lily had been working on them until just after 4. Knowing her, she hadn't slept before then, either, which meant the ten year old likely had less than an hour or so of sleep to her name in the past 36 hours._

_John swallowed a guilty wince. Again. Like he was always doing when he stopped to considered what he was putting his kids through. "Let her sleep," he said. "We need to move. We're running late already. Sam, you help me pack the car. Dean, can you grab your sister?"_

_Lily, like her brother, came awake at his first touch, first groggy, then alert. She sat up quickly._

_"Dean? I'm sorry, I forgot to wake you up! Are you okay? I didn't mean to, I fell asleep..."_

_Dean smiled, shook his head. "Lily, calm down. It's okay. I'm fine. Dad and Sam are just taking things out to the car. Everyone is fine. You did good."_

_Lily looked around, suspicious, before focusing back on Dean, crestfallen. "Okay," she said quietly, scooting to the edge of the bed. "I'll grab–"_

_"No, Lil. Did you sleep at all last night? We have a long drive. Go back to sleep. I'll carry you."_

_"I can walk."_

_"I'm sure you can. Go to sleep."_

_Lily looked torn between getting the sleep she so obviously needed, and making sure her concussed brother didn't overexert himself. "Are you sure everyone is okay?"_

_"Positive."_

_"Okay...well...I'll just stay here for a second. Come get me when everything is in the car, okay?"_

_Dean hid a smile and raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Lil."_

_He wasn't surprised when she was asleep again only a minute later.  
_

_Lily barely moved as Dean carried her out to the car, settling her into the back seat with a waiting Sam. She hardly stirred as the Impala rumbled to life beneath her, safely away from the motel which would now hold so many dark memories, just like every other motel in the last year. She didn't budge an inch. She didn't have to. The hard part was over. No more waiting for Lily, not now. The waiting was over, and now she could rest._


	10. Lily's First Hunt, Part A

**Sorry this has taken so long! I go to school a few thousand miles from where I live-getting between there and here is always hectic. Anyway, I split this chapter into two parts, just 'cause, and I'll post both today, and the next few chapters over the next few days-I _promise_ this time. =) I already have them written and uploaded. Thanks for waiting! Let me know if you have any questions/comments! Speaking of which, I'll be catching up to review replies in a minute.**

**You'll notice some of the events follow the show, others don't.  
**

**Winchesters still ain't mine!**

**Love + Peace**

**CA**

**

* * *

**Lily looked back and forth between her older brothers, her face an almost comical mask of incredulity. Hell, it would have been downright hilarious, if Dean didn't loathe this situation with every fiber of his being. Still, he didn't flinch when those suspicious green eyes settled on him.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked. She was talking about Sam, but she wouldn't look at him, not even when he released a frustrated sigh.

Dean smirked. "That's what I've been trying to figure out for 23 years, Lil."

The three Winchesters were sharing a table at Harvelle's Roadhouse. It was 9 AM, and they had the place to themselves. After meeting Jo, Ellen's daughter (who regarded them all, especially Dean, with equal parts distance and awe), and Ash, the mullet-wearing, ex-MIT genius, the three had crashed in a nearby motel. Now they were back, discussing Lily's research on the thing killing couples around town. Or at least that's what they had been doing, until Sam voiced his theory on what the thing was, and how to take it down…using all three sets of Winchester hands.

Lily was not appeased. "I'm serious, Dean." Then, as if realizing the irony in her words—_serious Dean_—she turned to Sam. "What's wrong with you? Is this a game? A joke? A cry for help? I know Dad told me to look out for you guys, but—"

"Lily, just wait. Hear me out on this," Sam protested, hands up in a gesture of surrender. Lily looked like she was going to argue, then gave a frustrated huff and fixed both her brothers with a glare somewhere between expectant and skeptical.

"You have two minutes. Go."

"Look, Lily. It's like this…" Sam started evasively. "You…we…well, I…I mean…Dean…"

"We need your help, Lily. Simple as that." Sam shot Dean an irritated look at being interrupted. "Right, because things were going so well for you, Sherlock."

"Dean, that doesn't even make sense," Lily started.

Dean ignored her. "All I'm saying is with Dad gone, Sammy and I are down one man."

"Are you calling me a man?"

"Well, if the shoe fits…"

Sam took over again. "Lily, if you don't want to come—"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I want to come. I just want to know _why_ I'm coming."

"Because we need your help," Dean interjected, as if stating the color of the sky.

Lily was skeptical. "You've never needed my help before. Hell, you _have_ needed my help before, and I've never heard a word about it. Why now? What's going on that you're not telling me?"

Dean remained quiet. Sam sighed and looked out the window. Lily rolled her eyes. "Forget it," she said, standing to depart. "If you can't tell me—"

"It's a distraction," Sam said finally. He ignored the look of betrayal Dean sent his way.

Lily glanced back, suspicious. "A what?"

"A distraction. From…from Dad."

"Dad's dead."

"Yeah, and leaving you alone all day to think about it while we're out hunting isn't fair."

Lily looked at both of her brother's. Dean avoided her gaze, but Sam held it steady. She frowned and sat again. "You want to take me hunting so I can forget about Dad's death?"

Sam shook his head. "Not forget…just…not dwell. Again, Lil, if you don't want to go—"

"No," Lily said a little too quickly. Dean looked back. Now it was Lily's turn to avoid eye contact. "No," she amended softly. "I…I want to go. I do. Really."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Then what's wrong? You know we won't let anything happen to you."

Lily laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Yeah, I know. It's not that."

"Then what? You look like someone drowned your cat."

Lily remained silent. What was she supposed to say? That she knew all too well they were bringing her because she was doing a shitty job at hiding her grief? That she felt a little guiltier every time she saw Sam stare off into the distance, or Dean give a smile that didn't touch his eyes? That she _knew_ she was failing her father by letting her brothers down?

"Lily?"

No.

She looked up, then grinned, and when she spoke, she almost managed to convince herself. "Just trying to figure out how best to avoid those bruises from kickback," she said brightly.

They both stared at her, and for a moment, she thought they'd seen through her lie. Maybe they did. If so, then Lily appreciated Dean's cover.

"We'll buy you one of those silk shirts with the shoulder pads," he said, tossing down a few bills to pay for their half-eaten lunch. "C'mon, Princess. Never woulda guessed my sister was made of china."

Lily rolled her eyes and punched her older brother in the arm as the two stood to depart. Only Sam remained seated, watching his siblings carefully. Lily looked back at him, and knew he wasn't fooled. She caught his eyes, held them for a long second, then smiled. Sam didn't. She ignored it.

"C'mon, Sammy. If we start now, we can lock Dean out of his own car."

**

* * *

**

It was called a rakshasa, and it was the first Lily had ever heard of one.

It was a shape-shifter, which had to feed every twenty to thirty years. It was here in town with the circus, taking the shape of a clown to lure in children and kill their parents. While Dean spared no liberties in tormenting his younger brother about his coulrophobia (he'd Googled 'fear of clowns', Lily knew, just to sound smart while he tortured Sam), Lily had been hard at work with Ellen, researching. The last time anyone had seen a string of killings like that was in the early 80s.

The circus had been around then, too.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," Lily said, elbows propped against the driver and passenger's seats of the Impala where her brother's sat. "It's not bound by location or item because it travels _with_ the circus. And the only way to kill it is with a blade of pure bronze."

It was just after midnight, and the three were making their way to the half-shut down carnival. The killings had scared them off, apparently. Especially with the 'clown' allegations, though most people shrugged them off as the delusional mutterings of shocked and orphaned children.

Lily grinned suddenly and turned to Sam. "Sammy? How you holdin' up, kiddo?"

Dean caught on immediately and grinned back at Lily. Sam, however, looked confused…and a little defensive. He looked back and forth between his siblings. "I'm sorry?"

"You know…we're going to hunt a killer _clown_," Lily went on casually. "So, you gotta be crawlin' in your skin, right?"

"What?"

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy, you've had a thing with clowns since before Lily was born," Dean chimed in, smirking. "Look, if you wanna stay in the car for this one, I'm sure Lily's got it…"

Lily snorted under her breath. Cue Sammy-Bitchface in three…two…one…

"Shut up."

"Aw, leave him alone, Dean," Lily pouted, reaching over Sam's chair to muss his hair. "He's just nervous."

"Lily, I will lock you in this car. Don't push me."

Lily raised an eyebrow, wiggling her fingers. "Gee, it'd be such a tragedy if I didn't have…you know…hands."

"Alright, alright, kids," Dean said as Sam turned to reach over his seat at Lily, who quickly escaped to the other side of the car. "We're here."

Lily's smile disappeared instantly. Dean, already climbing out of the car to unload the trunk, didn't notice. Sam did.

"You alright?"

Lily swallowed, then put on a smile, nodding unconvincingly. "Yeah, fine. Just…it's colder out here than I thought it would be."

"It's June."

"Crazy weather, huh?" Lily replied, climbing out of the car to go help Dean.

Sam stepped in front of her and put both hands on her shoulders. "Lily, if you don't want to do this, it's not too late—"

"I want to do it, Sam. I'm just…it's my first time, alright? Gimme a break. I'm not Dean."

Sam smirked. "Thank God." Then his voice softened. "You'll be fine, Lily. You'll be better than fine. You'll be great. You've been practicing for this your whole life. The only different now is that you're older. You're ready. And either way, Dean and I'll be here. No matter what. Nothing is gonna happen. Not to us, not to you."

Lily swallowed, shifted her eyes toward the ground and took a deep breath. Then she looked up and met his eyes. "I know, Sammy. Thanks."

He shrugged and nodded in the direction of the main office. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Lily answered, leading the way.

"Oh, Lil," Sam chided gently. "You're better than clichés." He then swore as Lily kicked him in the shin before running ahead to meet Dean.

**

* * *

**

Lily swore as the threw down the old file of pictures, receipts, and letters, scattering loose papers over the dusty floor of Hindel's office.

"Lily! What the hell?" Dean bent to pick up the papers. "Lil, we got another hour, maybe two here tops. Leavin' the place like your old bedroom ain't exactly the best way to go about things."

"Two hours. Exactly," Lily said, exasperated, sitting down on the chest she'd just spent twenty useless minutes shifting through with her chin in her hand and ignoring the jibe. "We've been here almost _three_ hours, and found absolutely nothing. It's that guy, the ringleader, I'm sure it is, I did all the research—"

"Lily, sometimes this is how it goes," Sam said, and Lily heard a smile in his voice. She turned, annoyed.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm just wondering what you think we do out here. All action, all the time? This isn't _CSI_. I know you do the heavy research, but just because we come out here—"

"Oh, God, don't patronize me, Sam," Lily said irritably. It was late, and she was tired and cranky. "You know how many times you and Dean and Dad came home with the shit beaten out of you. Don't tell me you never find anything."

"Not never," Dean corrected, handing her the pile of papers. "Just not right away. Anyway, here."

Lily took the stack but didn't look at it. "Whatever. I've been looking through this pile. There's nothing here, Dean." She flipped aimlessly through the photos and papers. "Nothing about Hindel. Just pictures, and contracts, and…wait." She frowned, pulling out a single piece of paper, browned with age, then two others. Each was more dog-eared than the last. The other papers slipped from her hand to scatter on the floor. Dean groaned. Lily ignored him, scanning the piece of paper with a look of growing concern.

"Did we find anyone else to stick with the circus through the last fifty years?" she asked.

"No…" Sam said slowly. "Just the Hindel guy. But—"

"But here's his birth certificate. And his Dad's. It's legit," Lily said, flashing two pieces of paper without taking her eyes off the third. "Apparently, father and son just look a helluva lot alike. But this…this one's the knife-thrower's. It's…different than the others. And dated for one hundred years ago."

Sam frowned, and Dean dropped the papers for a third time, coming to join their sister. "What?" Dean asked, at the same time Sam said, "It's lacking the water-print seal. That's a fake."

"So…?" Dean started.

"So something's up with the old blind guy," Lily finished for him.

"Oh, my," interrupted a third, effectively freezing the blood of all three Winchesters. "It appears you've discovered my secret."

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**On to part two!**


	11. Lily's First Hunt, Part B

**[Rated T for some language.]**

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**Sam and Dean closed ranks in front of a stunned Lily faster than she could blink. In her mind, she'd imagined something very different. The rakshasa would emerge as a cloud of black smoke, or else an evil-looking clown with a meat cleaver dripping blood. Possibly a werewolf or a banshee or even just a ghost. Dean would stand and smite it with a flick of his wrist and a sarcastic quip.

But she hadn't expected—had she? She had known the man was not a man, but his form still surprised her—the old blind man they'd met only yesterday, who'd antagonized Dean for a bit, then moved on. They couldn't shoot a human. Not in real life. They were hunter, not murderers. Murderers belonged in movies, which clever, cliché lines. Something like, "You!" to which the previously unknown antagonist would smirk and reply, "Me."

But none of that happened. Instead, the half second of startled silence was broken by the sharp crack of a fired gun. Lily jumped; a bullet struck the wall where the rakshasa had been standing only an instant before. The door to the office burst open as the now-invisible creature bolted. Dean swore; Sam turned.

"_Lily?_"

She looked up at him, confused, then followed his eyes to her trembling left hand, where she held the pistol Dean had finally acceded to give her, its muzzle trailing smoke.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, God…Sam…Dean, I—"

"Forget it," Dean interrupted, taking his own gun in hand, though he knew it wouldn't help. "We got a ghost to gank." He nodded to the would-be empty night beyond the open door of the office before ducking outside.

Lily was still seated, frozen in shock, her eyes wide, staring at the gun in her hand. "Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

He shook his head. "It's fine, Lily. C'mon. We should go help Dean." He started toward the door, then turned, holding out a hand for the gun. "Here. It won't help against the rakshasa."

Lily looked at the gun, then Sam's hand. Then her jaw tightened in frustration. "Yeah. I know," she said, tucking the gun into her belt loop.

"Guys? A little help, please!" It was Dean, who, while he didn't sound injured, did sound distressed…which in the Winchester case, was warning enough.

Sam and Lily glanced at each other before darting from the room just in time to see Dean dodge a knife flying from an invisible sender at the door of the haunted funhouse.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, running after his brother.

"Son of a bitch won't show himself," Dean grunted, squinting uselessly through the dark. "I think he's in the funhouse—"

"Ya think?" Sam agreed sarcastically, jogging to his brother's side. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Look, we gotta get in there and kill the thing before it decides to make us one of those fancy Kitchenette blade holders."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Sam shot back, still looking Dean over for any sign of injury. "Because the front door seems occupied."

Dean shook his head. "No…no, I've been watching. The knives are almost timed. Just because the bastard's invisible, doesn't mean he's got extra hands. He's gotta reload and aim first. We time it right, we'll be—"

"Dean!" This time it was Lily, and short of confusion, there was fear. It was odd, Sam thought. One minute, she'd been standing somewhere behind him, near the office door; the next, she was there, next to Dean, just in front of him, in fact. She was fast; she always had been. Sam had always guessed it'd be a boon on the job, but he'd never gotten to test the theory.

'_Check_ _and mate_,' he thought to himself, as he took in the scene before him, looking just as shocked as Dean and Lily herself, who stood, frozen in shock, right hand was extended protectively in front of her brother. In her fist, she clutched a blade, effectively stopping it only inches from Dean's neck.

Dean swallowed convulsively, stumbled back a step and stared at the knife in Lily's hand, then Lily, who stared back, wide-eyed.

"Are you okay?" she finally squeaked after a moment, still staring at the blade.

"Fine…" Dean said slowly, looking back and forth between his sister and the treacherous doorway vomiting spinning knives. "Lily…"

She offered a shaky grin. "Don't. Just call it even."

"I was just gonna say…Your hand is bleeding."

Lily looked down as she lowered her arm. Crimson trickled from between her fingers. "Oh. Yeah," she laughed drily. "Ow."

"No shit. You okay?"

"I'm great." She winced as she uncurled her fist from around the blade she'd caught, but smiled as she held the bloody knife up for them to examine. "Bronze."

Now Dean was smiling, too. "Bastard just handed us his head on a plate."

Suddenly, Sam put a heavy hand on each of his siblings' shoulders and dragged all three of them to the ground, just as a heavy cleaver soared over the space where their heads had been.

"Hey, you know what we need to work on?" he gasped. "Not stopping to chat mid-hunt. We're not gonna get lucky a third time."

Lily grinned apologetically, standing as the three of them made their way into the funhouse.

Stepping inside was a bit like stepping into every scary movie Lily had ever seen. The quasi-total darkness, the looming shadows…hideous colors and leering faces. Heavy mist filled the rooms like fog, spilling slowly from low-hanging, ancient looking piping overhead (which Sam, Lily noticed, had to duck to pass under). There was even a scratchy record-player-soundtrack running underneath it all that was somehow all the more terrifying for skipping every few seconds.

But the tension, as with any scary movie—the sheer suspense—was by far the worst part. Lily paused at the door for a moment, watching the darkness swallow her brothers, hesitant, frightened, even. Knowing that the rakshasa was somewhere in the mirrored labyrinth of a room, invisible and armed, and angry…

"Lily?" Sam's voice rang out.

"Right behind you," Lily said, her voice surprisingly still. The suspense was grueling. But Lily had spent eleven years waiting in well-lit rooms with no scary music and no killer clowns, knowing much worse was after her family. Nothing could match that.

She ducked into the darkness on Dean's tail, managing not to shudder as she heard a knife whiz inches behind her. The rakshasa's cowardice mode of attack was…frustrating to say the least.

Dean, it appeared, was feeling the same. "Show your ugly mug, you sick son a bitch!"

"Yeah, Dean, let's antagonize it," Lily hissed, still squinting through the darkness for something she knew was invisible.

"Hey, if antagonizing it gets it to come out of hiding—" Dean's quip was cut off as he suddenly pushed Lily away. Lily, who was already tense, started and lashed out with her instinctively as she fell, hooking her foot behind Dean's knee. He stumbled forward into the closest wall as a flurry of knives flew toward them. Lily heard Dean hit the wall hard. She heard the knives strike an instant later.

Then she heard a scream she never would have guessed to be hers.

"_Dean_!"

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**Cliffhanger! No worries, though: the next chapter is already uploaded. Thanks for reading! Please review! 3 CA**

**Also: You'll notice this follows the episode...kinda. I think this is called an AU. Some details are closer than others; some I just made up. Just a heads up (after the story =p).  
**


	12. Discovery, Part III

**I know it's been a while since I updated this part, so I started with a little of where I ended. Not much else to say about this, except keep reading! And don't worry, the regular story picks up tomorrow. Love you all. Bobby and the Winchesters do not belong to me ('cept Lily). **

**Peace!**

**CA**

**

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****_Previously:_**

**…_before she could react, there was a loud sound as the door flew off his hinges and the window shattered. Lily dropped roughly to the floor, and, still gasping, darted to the first hiding place she could find. At the same time, John Winchester's body bolted from the room, leaping through the now-broken window._**

**_Sam, Dean, and Bobby stood on the threshold. Bobby took hold of Dean's shoulders. "I'll go after your dad, boys. He won't get far. You boys go find Lily." He paused. They'd heard everything that had happened in the small room. "Boys…be gentle."_**

_The room was in tatters; there was blood on one wall. Dean felt his heart climb into his throat. What exactly had that thing done to his baby sister? At seventeen years old, Dean was no longer a stranger to the supernatural. Thirteen-year-old Sam, who'd been on his first hunt only six months ago, was a little newer to the gig. He'd found out about what his father did at eight, but he'd learned from his brother in a casual conversation. A frightening conversation, to say the least, but there was no violence involved. He couldn't imagine how Lily would be feeling now. _

_ "Lily?" he called gently. "Lily, where are you? He's gone, Lil. Don't worry. It's just Dean and me."_

_ There was no answer, and Sam began to panic. "Dean. What if he hurt her? Her blood's on the wall…you heard her breathing. For all we know, she could be unconscious already—"_

_ "Stop, Sammy," Dean said, turning his brother to face him. "Don't do this. Don't panic now. Lily needs our help. We'll find her, okay? And she'll be alright." Sam didn't answer, and he didn't lose the panicked look. Dean placed a hand on each shoulder. "Sammy?" he said firmly._

_ Sam hesitated, started to nod, then froze. "Wait," he whispered. "Listen." _

_ They both stood there for what felt like an eternity, listening. Finally, Dean picked up on a small sound: it was somewhere between a pant and a gasp. He looked at Sammy, and they both rushed toward the sound._

_ They found her squeezed between the folding cot in the bathroom and the wall. She was curled in a ball and wouldn't look up, but they could tell by the quick movements of her shoulders, she was mid-panic attack._

_ "Lily?" Sam tried gently. "Lily, it's just us. It's Sammy and Dean, see?" He got to his knees and inched forward, slowly laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and yelped, and her breathing hastened. Though she sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, and her forehead resting on her knees, they could see a ridge of blood at her hairline. It was staining her sleeve and right forearm._

_ "Dean?" Sam sounded nervous._

_ "Let me try," Dean said, without taking his eyes off his sister. "Sammy, can you go get Ruff?"_

_ "Where—?"_

_ "On the couch under her blanket. Hurry, Sam."_

_ Sam was gone in an instant, leaving Dean with Lily, and her harried breathing._

_ "Hey, Lil," he said gently, inching closer to her. She heard him and shuffled backwards without looking up. "C'mon, Lil…"_

_ "Why's she doing that?" Sam whispered quietly. He'd returned to kneel beside his older brother, holding out a worn pink-and-green puppy._

_ "She's scared of us," Dean said, accepting the toy. "After what she saw with Dad…can you blame her?"_

_ "What do we do?"_

_ "Convince her we are who we say we are." He held out Ruff to Lily. "Lily, look who Sammy brought to play. It's Ruff! I think Ruff wants to play the color game."_

_ The 'color game' had been invented years ago, when Lily first started falling victim to panic attacks. She'd take turns with 'Ruff' (or whoever was controlling him) and name as many colors as she could think of, taking a deep breath after each one, until she'd calmed enough to breathe by herself. Lily had grown, but her panic attacks had stayed the same, so the game never became 'age appropriate'._

_ "Come on, Lil. Ruff wants to play. Don't make him sad. Lily?"_

_ Now Dean was becoming anxious. She'd go limp soon, if they didn't get her calmed down. She'd fall asleep with the images of her father attacking her in her head. And if that happened…_

_Improvising, Dean shifted the cot to sit right next to her. She stiffened, but she no longer had the energy to shy away._

_ "Now, Lily, you have to listen to me. You have to calm down, okay? The thing that was in Dad is gone, and he's okay. He'll be here in a minute. Right now, Sammy and I are here, okay? Just Sammy and me. You're safe. You know we won't let anything hurt you, right?"_

_ Lily didn't answer, and Dean pressed the point. "Right, Lily?"_

_ She didn't lift her head, but Dean detected the almost imperceptible nod._

_ "Good girl," he soothed gently. "Now, I want you to do something for me, okay, Lil?"_

_ Sam, watching anxiously, frowned. "Dean!" he hissed quietly. He knew Lily wouldn't ignore a request from either of them; he also knew she wasn't in shape to do much of anything. _

_ Dean ignored him. "C'mon, Lil, can you be my strong baby sister and help me out here? Please?"_

_ Another tiny jerk of the head. "Good girl, Lil. Then I want you to breathe with me, okay? Breathe like I breathe. Deep breaths, nice and slow." She wasn't listening. Her fists were going slack. Dean looped an arm around her shaking shoulders. This time, she didn't even flinch. _

_ "Listen, Lily." He took a deep breath, letting his chest swell against her back and shoulders. "Feel that? See how I'm breathing? Deep, slow breaths. C'mon, you can do it. Sam'll do it, too, right Sammy? All at once. Ready? In…out…in…out…" _

_ For a minute, Dean thought they'd just have to take her to the hospital…but then she responded. He watched her shoulders cease to heave as her back fell and rose in time with his._

_ After a few minutes, the tension eased from her body. She unfolded herself and turned into Dean, hands fisted in his shirt._

_ "Dean, I…I…" she started. Daddy always said not to cry. Crying didn't help anything. But she couldn't help it. Not now._

_ Dean pulled her into his lap. "You can cry, Lil. It's okay."_

_ Lily didn't wait another second._

_**

* * *

**_

_ When Dean and Sam emerged to the main room ten minutes later, Lily was sleeping fitfully in Dean's arms, her own arms looped around his neck, exhausted by her ordeal. Both boys looked grim as they approached Bobby and John. The men were sitting at the table, Bobby bandaging the hand Jon had cut when he'd gone through the window._

_ John half stood when Dean carried her in. The first thing he saw was the dried blood at her hairline._

_ "Jesus," he muttered. "Is she…"_

_ "She'll be okay. She's terrified. She's…she's got a lot to think about. But physically, she'll be okay." Dean hadn't meant for his words to be cold. He knew it wasn't his father's fault, but he couldn't help feeling bitter. "Did you kill it?"_

_ "Got away," grumbled Bobby. "Damn thing was ready. Musta been planning this for a week."_

_ "Planning to tell her about his own existence? Why would he?" Dean said, sitting on the couch with Lily in his arms._

_ "No," John said, going to stand awkwardly next to Dean. "No, it was something else. Some dreams it thought she was having."_

_ "Dreams?" Bobby looked up from the bloody gauze he was packing away._

_ "Dreams, feelings, I dunno." John shrugged. "Didn't get much more than that. She didn't know what it was talking about, either. So, it just made her promise to remember…if she did have any weird dreams..." He trailed off, looking down at his sleeping daughter, her face contorted in fear and pain. "Dean…can I…"_

_ Dean looked at his father, face blank, for several seconds, then closed his eyes, shook his head. "Yeah…yeah, of course, Dad." He stood and handed Lily to their father, turning to look at Sam, who looked a little pale himself. "Sammy? You alright?"_

_ Sam blinked and looked at Dean as if surprised to see him there. "Dean…" he said quietly. "It's not fair. Why did it—?"_

_ Suddenly, Lily began screaming again, kicking and thrashing in her father's arms. She was half awake, and shrieking Dean's name._

_ "Dean! Dean, please! Please help! It got me, Dean! Don't let him hurt me! Please…Dean…Sammy…please!"_

_ They could all hear her breathing hasten again, and both Sam and Dean stepped toward John. Dean took Lily from him; John didn't put up a fight, looking equal parts stunned and hurt._

_ As soon as Lily was back in Dean's arms, she was quieting, sobbing again, but no longer screaming or kicking. They all looked at her, then back to John, who was still wearing the same shocked expression._

_ Dean spoke first. "Dad, I—"_

_ "It's fine. I…I'll go get her something for her head. I'll be back." He left without another word._

_ It was silent for a full minute as Dean tried to soothe his sister back to sleep._

_ "C'mon over here, kid," Bobby said finally. "Can you hang onto her while I clean her head?"_

_ Dean nodded numbly and sat at the table with Bobby. Already, he was predicting sitting up with her that night. She wouldn't be okay until he and Sammy explained everything, until she knew her father wasn't trying to kill her, and none of that could happen until morning. _

_ Sam wandered over eventually, still clinging to Ruff. He sat at Dean's feet, and leaned his head against Lily's leg, feeling on the verge of tears—frustrated, angry, frightened tears—himself._

_ "It's not fair," he said again, more to himself than anyone else. "It shouldn't have done that to her. Not like that. Now not."_

_ Dean used his free hand to reach down and tousle Sam's hair. "She'll be okay, Sammy," he repeated hollowly. "She'll be okay."_

_ Sam didn't respond._ 'Doesn't make it fair,' _he thought, wishing fiercely he could protect his sister from everything, if only for that single moment._


	13. Coulrophobia

**I just want to thank EVERYONE for the great reviews! Last chapter was my most reviewed so far! I've been working on a lot more Dean/Lily flashbacks, since they seem to be well-received. Also, revealing (soon) why there at odds with each other currently. Thanks again! Please leave questions/comments/concerns in reviews!  
**

**Winchesters are not mine.**

**Peace and love!  
**

**CA**

**PS-Some language.  
**

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**"Dean!" Lily dropped to her knees beside her brother's still form, too scared to feel wretched, refusing to acknowledge the hand she'd had in her brother's death. "Dean! I'm sorry! Please…please—"

"Lily? Lily, what is it? What happened?" Sam's voice came from somewhere behind her, worried.

"It's Dean," she replied too quickly. "I wasn't paying attention. He tried to save me, but I pushed him…and the knives…" Lily didn't cry much. But she could feel herself getting dangerously close. Her breath hitched. "I didn't hear them coming, I just panicked…I'm sorry…"

"I'm fine, Lil." Dean's voice startled her, and she froze. "I'm fine. Just…stuck."

"You're…you're what?" Lily peered through the darkness; Dean was sitting up against the wall, pale, shaken, but unharmed. His right arm was pinned over his head, his leather jacket sleeve stuck through in several places by four or five knives between his elbow and wrist. "Shit…" she breathed, half relieved, half cautious, but suddenly far from tears. "Dean, there's no way that was an accident."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, statistically…he was aiming for you, Dean, with…what? Four, five knives? And each of them is less than a quarter inch from your arm. Hell, he was inches from your brachial artery! The chances have got to be less than one in a million." Lily paused, thinking, flinching slightly when she heard Sam jog up behind him. She heard him sigh in relief as he crouched and tried to release his brother. Lily went on, oblivious. "He…it, I mean…It knew you would try to protect me. Save me. If it had wanted to kill you, it would have. But it _wanted_ to trap you here. Like—"

"Like bait," finished Sam, standing, just as Lily heard something move in the darkness. With a grunt, Sam swung the flat of a cleaver—Lily hadn't noticed it in his hand—he'd picked up into the piping overhead, spewing misty ambiance throughout the funhouse. The brittle old pipe shattered, spilling the mist over the tree Winchesters…and the previously invisible rakshasa, which stood directly behind Sam, silhouetted in fog.

"Sam!" Dean tried to warn, even as the thing realized it was visible.

Lily didn't think. There was no time to think. She went on the instinct that had been forced on her since she was five years old: shoot first, ask questions later. Of course, when there was no gun, there was only raw reaction. Lily swung around with the first thing she could find—the bronze knife in her hand, still covered in her own blood—and yelped in surprise when the knife met resistance.

Then several things happened at once.

Lily felt a sudden, searing heat spread down the knife and dropped it—it stayed where it was, the glowing blade quivering in midair—as a pillar of flame suddenly became visible in front of them. It lunged toward Lily, who cringed away without a sound. But then Sam was there, in front of her. He lashed out at the creature before dropping to his knees and bracing himself with both hands against the wall, shielding his brother and sister from the flames of the dying monster. Lily turned away from the white light, Dean shut his eyes.

Seconds later, or perhaps hours, the light faded. There was a clang as the bronze blade dropped to the ground. All three siblings turned to stare at it, then each other. The battle was over; the Winchesters had survived.

Lily blinked. "Hey…Sammy? Totally understand your fear of clowns now."

**

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**

They didn't make it back to the motel until a few hours before sun-up, and between the late hour, and Lily's exhaustion, she was a little…punch-drunk.

"And _Sam_," she gushed, turning to look at her big brother, eyes wide with awe and adoration, and nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. Both Sam and Dean shot out a hand to steady her, but she seemed unaware. "Sam, that thing you did? In the funhouse? Where you…you, like, punched it, but really hard? You practically flipped it upside down!"

Sam shot Dean a look, and felt slightly less guilty when he saw his brother was struggling to hide a smile as well.

Lily continued, completely oblivious to her brothers. "And then that time where you were like '_Gah_!' and Dean was like, '_Hey_!' and I was like, '_Ah_!', but then you were like, '_Grr_!'" She gestured grandly about the room, punctuating each interjection with another haphazard hand motion.

"Alright, c'mon, kid," Dean said, looping an arm around her waist to keep her from falling, while at the same time expertly dodging her would-be fists of fury. "Time for bed."

She pushed at his hands weakly, but other than that, made no attempt to escape. "No way, Dean! Don't we get to go celebrate? We hafta go to…to, like, a bar or something, right? And then the bartender will slide a mug down the bar, and say, 'This one's on the house, champ!' Only…he'll have to do it three times, 'cause there's three of us, and don't worry, I can hold my liquor, 'long as I eat first, but don't get mad, or anything, I'm just in school." She paused to take a breath, and Dean tried (and failed) to interrupt. Sam laughed.

"Hey…" Lily continued, as if she had just remembered something new and surprising. "That was _awesome!_ Sammy, you're _awesome! _And you, Dean, you're awesome, too! And me! Guys…we're _awesome!_"

Now Dean was laughing, too. "Yeah, yeah, awesome. Look, Lily, you're exhausted. It's time to get your awesome self to sleep."

Lily turned to him and tried to pout, but she was still too giddy, and the frown turned into drunken giggles. "But Deeeean," she drawled. "I'm not even tired!"

"Sure, I know," he said, towing her further into the room. Sam went ahead and turned down her bed, sweeping the notes she'd been going through earlier to the floor. He glanced up, one eyebrow raised, at Lily's 'not even tired' comment. Dean met his eyes over her head and smirked.

But even half delirious, Lily did not miss this exchange, and Sam was certain then the girl knew them better than they knew themselves.

"Hey," she said, stopping abruptly and pulling out of Dean's grasp. She folded her hands across her chest, and this time her pout _did_ look legitimate. Well. Legitimately five years old. "I know you're talking about me," she said, moodily.

Sam swallowed a smirk, just barely managing to suppress it. "Us? We didn't even say anything!"

"Not out loud," Lily countered. "But you don't have to. I know what you're thinking. And I am _not_ tired," she added. Dean bit his tongue, half expecting her to stomp her foot.

"Alright," Sam acceded finally. "Maybe you're not tired, but I sure am. Dean, you?"

Dean caught on almost instantly, and stretched. "Hell yeah, man. I'm ready to hit the sack. Too bad Lily's being so noisy."

Sam hit the ball back without missing a beat. "God, I know! I feel like I'm about to faint, too, I'm so tired…"

"No kidding."

Lily stood between them, shifting her head back and forth to watch their exaggerated yawns and stretches, frowning as she scrutinized their faces for any sign of humor. But either they were better actors than they thought, or she was beginning to feel how exhausted she really was, because her frown softened and her arms dropped to her sides.

"Alright, fine," she said quietly. "But not because I'm tired."

Sam shook his head. "'Course not."

"Never," added Dean, following her as she retreated to her bed, in case her legs decided to give out early.

She sat down hard on the lumpy mattress, and both boys watched her eyelids flutter as the day began to catch up with her. Now that she was sitting, she was crashing fast. Her head bobbed.

"Lily, lay down before you fall over," Sam chided, pulling off her muddy boots.

Lily obeyed without a word, too tired to do otherwise. Her eyelids fluttered again, staying closed this time, and Sam thought she was out, when she spoke.

"Hey, Sammy," she greeted, her voice a dreamy mumble. Sam grinned. She was already half asleep.

"Hey, Lily," he said, crouching next to her. "Can I look at your hand?" She'd been reluctant to let him see it in the Impala on the way back to the motel, but now, half asleep, she nodded. When she didn't move, he laughed and took her hand gently in his own.

"Hey, Sammy?" she repeated, her voice softer than it had been before. That was good—it meant her hand wasn't bothering her.

"Yeah, Lil."

"Thanks."

She was so far gone, Sam didn't bother to correct her on the use of his name. He only smiled, pushed her dark locks from her face, and said, "Sure, Lil."

The hand in his was going limp quickly. When he was sure the weak grip would get no weaker, he started to get up and walk away, to where Dean had already kicked off his shoes and was watching the game on mute. At the last second, her grip tightened infinitesimally again.

"And Sam?" He had to crouch to hear her.

"Yeah, Lily?"

"I think you're maybe stronger than Dean."

Sam laughed quietly at that. Too bad he couldn't have it in writing.

He stood and mussed her hair again. "Well, Lily, I think _you're_ maybe stronger than both of us." The words held more weight than the light tone betrayed, but it didn't matter—Lily was already asleep.

Sam tilted his head, and watched the slow rise and fall of her chest for a minute, the way the tension eased from her face as she fell deeper and deeper into exhaustion. Then he turned away.

"She okay?" Dean whispered, as Sam rounded the wall-like island that separated the 'bedroom' from the 'living room'.

"'Course," answered Sam. "Just tired."

"Y'know, Sammy," Dean said, handing his brother a beer, "She's not bad."

"What, at the hunt?" The two clinked bottles. "Not at all."

"In fact, she's damn good."

Sam smiled at his brother's uninhibited pride. "She's Dad's kid," he agreed, tilting his bottle back and feeling the condensation trickle over his fingers. Dean nodded and did the same.

Unfortunately, neither one saw the dark shadow move across Lily's bed.

The boys were on their third episode of _American Gladiator _on ESPN Classic when Lily started screaming.

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**More cliffy! This one'll be resolved next chapter...which is already uploaded. No worries! Keep reading. Thanks, all!**


	14. Shadow

**Told you this'd be up fast. Hope you enjoy it! The next two chapters are almost ready-just a little editing, and they should be good to go. **

**The Winchesters aren't mine, blah blah blah. **

**Please read/review. Thanks!**

**Peace**

**CA**

**

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**Dean reacted so quickly, so instinctively, that he was at Lily's side, gun in hand, before he'd even realized he'd moved. Sam was close on his heels.

Lily was sitting up, and shaking, and _screaming_, and for a heart-stopping moment, Dean thought she was hurt. He inched closer, afraid to touch her.

"Lily?"

She turned, focused on him with startling speed, and immediately burst into hysterics.

"Dean! I saw it! I _saw _it!"

Dean glanced at Sam, who wore the same anxious, confused expression, before dropping to his knees. He grabbed Lily by the shoulders, turned her to look at him. "Lily! What is it? Saw _what_? What did you see?"

Dean tried and failed to remember the last time he'd seen Lily cry. She shook her head, sobbing too hard to speak. "I saw…I saw…"

"Sam."

Sam understood. He grabbed the shotgun Dean had dropped on the floor and burst through the tiny door of the motel, in hot pursuit of…whatever had scared Lily so badly. Under normal circumstances, he might have been concerned someone would see him, but it was well past 2AM, and he wasn't thinking straight anyway.

It didn't stop Lily from seeing him leave. "Sammy, _NO_!" she shouted, all but leaping up to go after him.

Dean restrained her. "Lily, whoa! Just…Lily, calm down. Please. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe. Nothing is gonna hurt you, alright?" He was still crouched in front of her at her bedside, hands working up and down her arms. He could feel her shaking under his fingers, and silently vowed to kill whatever monster had frightened her so badly.

Lily, however, had other concerns. "No, Dean, please! We have to go after him. We have to save Sammy! We have to go, _right now_!"

"Sammy'll be fine, Lil," Dean said gently. He couldn't understand why she was so concerned about Sam, but it didn't seem to matter. Knowing his sister, she was seconds from a panic attack, which wouldn't help anything. "He's just going to make sure whatever you saw is gone, okay? Did you see which way it went?"

"I saw it!" Lily said again, showing no sign of having heard Dean. "I _saw_ it, and it'll hurt Sammy. Dean, please! We have to go!"

She was hysterical. It was clear he wouldn't get anything out of her until he calmed her down. "Alright, Lil. Calm down. It's okay." He sighed in relief as Sam stepped back through the door. The two brothers exchanged a glance.

Sam looked at Lily, then back at Dean: _She okay?_

Dean shrugged, nodded toward the shotgun dangling loosely from Sam's right hand, the homemade EMF meter from his left: _Not really. You find anything?_

Sam shook his head—_Nothing_—before coming to stand beside Lily.

Dean breathed another sigh of relief before turning back to Lily, who was still whimpering quietly. When her eyes fell on Sam, she hurled herself into his arms. Sam stiffened in surprise, then, catching the look Dean sent him, dropped the gun and the EMF to embrace his sister.

"God, Lily, you're shaking."

"Did it hurt you?" she asked, her words muffled through his shirt.

Sam put a hand on her head, pushing sweat dampened hair from her face as she titled her head to look up at him. "No, Lil. I'm fine. I didn't find anything."

He felt her stiffen, and knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Then it's still there," she said, her voice little more than a haunted whisper.

Dean, now sitting on Lily's bed, reached out to touch her back. "No, Lily. There's nothing there. You had a nightmare, okay? A bad dream. There's nothing out there."

Lily shook her head, half untangling herself from Sam's arms. "No! I saw it. I saw it!"

"What did it look like?" Sam said soothingly, still rubbing small circle into her back.

"Don't _do _that, Sammy!" Lily all but screamed, undoing any semblance of calm the boys had managed to force onto her. "I'm not a little kid! I know what's out there, and I know what I saw!" Frustrated and scared, she knelt and grabbed the shotgun at Sam's feet, managing two steps toward the door before Sam stopped her.

"Lily!" He pulled her back into him, sat her shaking frame on the edge of her bed. "Wait. Sit. Breathe."

"Sammy…" she pleaded. She didn't notice as Dean gently removed the shotgun from her trembling hands and hid it behind him.

"It's okay," Sam said, echoing his older brother. "Everything is okay. I checked, alright? There's nothing there. I promise."

"Don't _lie_ to me!"

Dean took over again. "Lily, listen. No one is lying to you. Sammy used the EMF. There's nothing, alright? Nothing. Just a bad dream, okay?"

Sam knelt and held the meter out to her. "See? Nothing. No blinking, no beeping. Nothing. There's nothing here, Lil. The EMF woulda picked it up."

Lily studied the ragtag EMF for a long minute, then looked up slowly. "There…there's nothing here?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing. Promise."

Sam backed him up when Lily gave him the same desperate, frightened look. "It's safe, Lily."

Both boy watched as tension eased from her body only to reappear as she began taking shallow, gasping breaths. "Sammy?"

"Right here, Lil," he said, putting a hand to her cheek. "Relax, Lily. Look at me. Slow, deep breaths. Remember?" He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked Lily through a panic attack. It was strangely nostalgic. "Look," he said after a moment, pulling Ruff from where he'd been tucked away in a duffel bag. He missed Dean's surprised look.

"What the…is that—?"

"Shut up, man," he muttered. "Lily, you want Ruff?"

Lily looked at Sam for a long moment before accepting Ruff wordlessly, clutching the small toy to her chest. It was a moment before she could breathe again. When she could, she laughed weakly. "I…sorry, guys."

Sam frowned. "For what?"

"For…freaking out. Over a stupid…a stupid nightmare." She hesitated on the last word, and the boys could tell she was still uncertain. Dean glanced at Sam, who, after giving Lily a quick hug, stood…taking the shotgun and EMF meter with him.

"It _was_ a nightmare, Lily," Dean said firmly.

Lily looked up quickly into the mirror of her own green eyes. She held his gaze for a while, then swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I know. I just…I could have sworn I saw something…"

"You're just still in hunter mode, Lil. It happens. Man, I remember Sammy's first hunt—"

"Don't." Lily winced. Dean wouldn't understand what 'the normal' hunt was like for her when her brothers and father came back bleeding. She knew Dean was just trying to make her laugh. But she remembered it, too.

Dean's forced smile faded. "Look. Don't worry about it, Lily. It was your first time. It's a lot to deal with. Especially with everything else on your plate."

Lily scoffed quietly. "No excuse," she countered. "Nightmares are hardly…"

Unbidden a voice echoed in her head: _Either way, you better start remembering what you see and feel, or Dean and little Sammy won't be so lucky._

She whimpered without meaning to, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Lily?" His voice was laced with concern. His sister had suddenly gone pale.

"I'm fine," she returned in a small voice. "I just…I just wanna go to bed."

"You sure?"

She opened her eyes. "I'm tired."

Dean watched her for a moment, then stood, keeping one hand on her head. "Alright, kid. Sam and I'll be right here, okay?" When she didn't respond, he said, "Lily?"

"On second thought," Lily said abruptly, looking up at him, "Can I come watch TV with you guys? Just for a few minutes. I…I still…"

"'Course, brat, c'mon." The two walked back to where Sam sat on the couch. _American Gladiators_ was finished; the public station was now airing an infomercial about a very small blender. This time, Lily didn't catch the concerned glance her older siblings shared over her head as she settled in between them on the couch.

"Lily?" Sam said cautiously. "Y'alright?"

She nodded wordlessly, and was asleep with her head on Dean's shoulder not ten minutes later. Dean picked up his beer, swallowing the cool dregs before glancing at his brother.

"Hey, how long have you had that dog with you, man?"

"What, Ruff?" Sam replied wearily.

Dean laughed. "Yeah. Ruff. You remember its name?"

Sam shrugged. Ruff meant more to Sam than Dean would ever know. He remembered clutching the ragged thing the night Lily had learned the truth, waiting for her to wake up, wanting to hand it to her and fix everything and become Super Sammy again. Knowing he couldn't. He'd never tell Dean, but the dog was a comfort, if only because it was Lily's saving grace, and their strongest connection. A tangible piece of their relationship and everything they meant to each other.

"Maybe taking her on a hunt was a bad idea," he said quietly after a while.

Dean looked over abruptly, picking up on his brother's tone. "Sammy, this wasn't your fault, alright? She had a bad dream. It happens, like you said. She just needs to get used to it."

"This nightmare wasn't like the others, Dean," Sam argued. "She said she _saw _something."

"It was a dream, Sam. That's it."

Sam sighed and looked back toward the TV. "Yeah. I guess so."

Dean didn't let up. "Sam. Look at me. This wasn't your fault, okay?"

Sam smirked. "Yeah. Okay."

He didn't take his eyes off the TV, though, as he remembered something he'd said years before: _Doesn't make it fair, though._


	15. Sibling Rivalry

**This is a kind of carry-over chapter before I get back into the main plot and the next hunt. It's a mini flashback. Thanks for reading! Much love to EVERYONE!**

**Peace!**

**CA (Also, the Winchesters are not mine)**

**

* * *

**"I'm not staying here."

"Di'it sound like this's open f'r 'scussion?"

"What it sounds like," Lily said sharply, "is the inside of a damn taproom."

It was true enough, if not a little over-exaggerated. John Winchester was slurring his words, and none too steady on his feet. He waved a dismissive hand lazily through the air.

"It'sss fer th' pain, Lil."

Lily scoffed derisively. "Right, that's why you walked in drunk?"

"Hey, you don' talk t'me like that."

"Don't talk to you like what, Dad? I'm not the one who messed up and almost got Dean killed. You went out _drunk_ on a hunt and _he_ paid the price!"

"Lily!" Dean was icing a concussion at the tiny table in a corner of the dingy motel room, but at this, he looked up sharply. "Guys, c'mon, please. Not now—"

"Shut up, and sit down, Dean," Lily said firmly, not even bothering to look at her brother. The only reason he wasn't on the way to the hospital right now was because she'd managed to filch some liquid stitches the last time they were there. Not that it would matter. Dean couldn't drive, and her father was drunk. "Your father and I are talking."

John Winchester was not amused by his youngest's joke. "Now, Lily, you listen'me—"

"Oh, God, Dad, save it. At this point I'm not even sure whether that's more blood or alcohol on your shirt." She pointed to where she'd just stitched up his side. It had already soaked through the first layer of bandages. Her voice was hard, but her hands shook. Her father and brother had come closer than ever to being lost to her that night, and she wasn't about to put up with any more of it. She was leaving.

"I'll leave you the painkillers; Dean'll be alright to take you to the hospital in the morning if you need it. My bags are already packed, so don't bother trying to keep me here."

"Where're you going?" John's voice was flat, unaccusing, but angry. He was losing, and he knew it.

"School, Dad. Remember that? It's what all the normal kids started doing nine years ago."

"You go t'school."

"Yeah, when I'm not taking care of you. Which means I wouldn't be going the rest of this week. Which means I'd miss my eighth week this semester, which means I fail the ninth grade. That'll look real good on college applications."

The way John's expression changed from one of anger to one of hurt confusion first broke her heart, then enraged her. "College?"

"Christ, Dad, what do you think? I'd be content to play housemaid for the rest of my life? You didn't raise me to sit back and play damsel in distress!" Lily stopped suddenly, laughed mirthlessly. "Or maybe you did…But forget it. It doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

John's look of agony lingered for just a second before he resumed his ex-military position. Nothing about the way he stood changed, but Lily saw it nonetheless. In his eyes. In his voice. He was reaching for control. Again. "No, you're not."

"If you try to stop me, I swear I'll go the police," Lily said coldly, and found the words were out before she could stop them. Maybe she didn't even want to stop them.

"_Lily_!"

"Shut _up_, Dean! I'm serious, Dad. I'll tell them…" she trailed off. She knew exactly what she'd tell them. She'd had it all ready, practiced it for weeks. Then why couldn't she say it?

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she made no pretenses about hiding. Rarely did Lily find herself open, exposed, vulnerable, even in front of her family. _Especially_ in front of her family, when she knew it was her job to look after them. But this was turning out more difficult than expected.

"Daddy…please. Don't make this any harder for me than it already is."

John was stricken just then by how much his little girl resembled Mary. Her hair, her eyes, her posture…even her voice. If Mary—no, _Lily_, not Mary. Mary was dead. It Lily left, and something happened to her…If he woke up the next day, and his precious reminder of what had been was gone…

"You can't go, Lily. I _forbid_ you."

And just like that, vulnerable Lily was gone. Her eyes hardened, her face went slate blank.

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll call when I get to the school."

They stood and stared at each other for several seconds, each waiting for the other to say something, each hoping to salvage the deteriorating situation. It was John who broke the silence, and while Lily had long since forgiven him, she would never forget his next words:

"Alrigh', fine. Go on, then. Leave. Leave your brother 'n' me. Jus' like her. Jus' like your mother."

Dean lowered the hand holding the ice to his head. "Dad…" he said, his voice caught somewhere between shock and disgust.

John looked more than a little stunned by what he'd said. But John wasn't one to take backward steps. He swallowed, composed himself.

Lily was frozen on the doorstep, the closest to tears she'd been during the whole ordeal, trying to remember how to breathe. "Daddy—"

"Go, Lily!"

And Lily left.

**

* * *

**

"You gonna walk to the airport?"

She almost cried when she heard Dean had followed her out to the empty parking lot. It was late. The lot was mostly empty, save for a few empty cars and half-full beer cans. Lily was tired. And sad. She didn't want to argue anymore.

"Please go away."

"That a yes?"

"I'll find a taxi."

"Out here?"

"It's a motel, Dean. Taxis are everywhere. I'll find one."

"And bribe him to give you a ride?"

"I've got some money saved."

Dean stepped in front of her, eyes full of raw emotion. Lily tried to meet them and couldn't. "At least lemme help you with your bag." He reached for it.

"I'm fine." Her voice shook. She wasn't sure how much longer she could maintain the calm façade. If she cried, Dean would try to comfort her, or go yell at their Dad, and things would be resolved again, only to be destroyed the next time he or Dad got hurt. And she couldn't go back. Not now that he knew what he really thought. Especially since he was right.

But Dean wouldn't move from in front of her. He stood, one hand outstretched toward her bag. Toward her.

"It's too heavy," he said. The bag was no more than twenty pounds. "You'll hurt yourself."

"If I do, I'll take care of it." She kept her eyes on his feet, tried to move around him.

"Lily. Please don't do this."

Lily dropped the bag and turned to him, drawing a ragged breath. "Don't make it sound like a have a choice."

"But you do."

"No! I don't. You heard what he said. He practically…begged me to leave."

"It's not like that. That isn't what he meant."

"Then what?"

Dean shut his eyes, turned away. "He just…he worries about you…"

"Because I remind him of Mom."

"No." But he sounded uncertain.

Lily scoffed. "Look, Dean. I'll…I'll call. I'll write. I just…I need to have my own life. I can't spend the next forty years always worrying about you. I just can't."

"And you think running away will solve that?"

"It worked for Sam," she muttered half-heartedly.

Dean looked up abruptly. "Sam? Is that what this is about? Did he tell you to do this?"

Lily was incredulous. "What? No! God, Dean, don't you think I can make my own decisions? _This_ is why I'm leaving. Don't you get it? You treat me like I'm a child! You both do, and I'm sick of it!"

"Lily, you're fourteen years old! You _are _a child!" And now they were both yelling. Again.

"No, Dean, I'm not! I saw my mother burn to death when I was a year old. I've lived in more places in a year than most girls my age have in their entire lifetime. I fired my first gun when I was five. I'm not allowed to cry, God _help_ me if I show fear. A _child_, Dean? I've lived more lifetimes than people twice my age."

"So, what, the mature decision is to run away from home?"

"_Home_, Dean?" Lily was incredulous. "I'm fourteen years old. This is the 118th motel I've lived in since I was two. I don't _have_ a home. Hell, this boarding school will be more of a home than I've _ever_ seen."

"What, you mean a hundred miles away with a bunch of strangers? That home?"

"Yeah, Dean, that's exactly what I mean. Besides, you know you'll be within a few miles of the place whenever Dad decides to up and leave."

"That's not the point, Lily," Dean shot back, exasperation heavy in his voice. "What the hell are you gonna do out there? They won't let you keep a gun under your pillow, you know. They won't know how to protect you, or stop your panic attacks…" His voice was growing softer. He stopped his pacing and looked at her. "Lily…"

"Just stop, Dean," Lily said wearily, grabbing her bag. "This is pointless. I'm done."

"Fine. I'll drive," he said coldly. He was reaching out, she understood now. Trying one last time to comfort her, to be her big brother, to say he loved her, if not to stay home.

But fourteen-year-old Lily didn't understand. After everything that had been exchanged, Dean's reaching felt like pushing. Lily only heard another order, and underneath that, an expulsion: 'fine, then. Leave.' Just like Dad.

The sob that had been threatening to escape all night rushed forth in a flood of words.

"I don't need you to drive me," she tried to say. It wasn't until much later she realized the last three words never made it from her lips, engulfed in tears before they came to exist.

_I don't need you. _

_

* * *

_**Kinda of sad, I know. But tomorrow is my favorite chapter which I've had written for WEEKS. It's a tearjerker, but it's sweet, and finally a chance to see Daddy!John! So please come back. It'll get better! I promise! 3**_  
_


	16. Baby Mine

**This is it! My favorite chapter! I've had an idea about Lily and John for a while, but the thing with the lullaby just sort of came to me while I was writing this up the other day. Also, I feel like I need to counterbalance drunk!John from last chapter. =p I hope you like it as much as I do! If, when you get to the bottom, you want to hear the song (in French), I've attached a YouTube link. Warning: Bring tissues. Especially if you've seen the movie. **

**Peace!  
**

**Less-than-three ( but no Winchesters for) CA**

**

* * *

**It was still dark when Lily woke in her bed the next morning. Sam was in the next bed, and Dean's socked feet hung over the edge of the couch at the end of the small room. She was certain the two were both asleep, and yet the discussion they appeared to be having via snore was just a few decibels too high.

With a yawn, she turned her head toward the window with its broken shutter. The early dawn sky was gray with laden storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and heavy fingers of rain drummed the cracked pavement of the parking lot.

Lily had always loved thunderstorms. When she'd been younger, she'd stand at the windows for hours waiting for lightning to fork across the sky. She'd been frightened of them until her father, in a rare show of fatherly kindness, pulled her aside.

Dean and Sam had been going through a 'no girls allowed' stage and kicked Lily out of their shared bedroom (they'd been renting a house at the time, while John had been tracking a vampire stuck in the same city for over a month) when she'd poked her head in to see what they were up to. She'd only been three or four years old at the time, and between the sting of rejection and fear of the thunder, she'd been crying by the time John had found her, sitting alone in the bathtub.

"Hey, there, Lil," he'd chuckled as he walked in. "Little dry for a bath, don't you think?"

"I'm not dirty," she'd pouted.

"Then why're you in a bathtub? Planning on sailing somewhere?"

Lily had peeked shyly up at him through a curtain of dark hair—_God, she looks like her mother_—and smiled when she saw the twinkle in John's eye. "No, Daddy. I—"

Then the thunder had cracked again, and the walls shuddered as the lights flickered. Lily had yelped, buried her head in her knees and started crying again.

"Lily!" John said, feigning astonishment. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little ol' thunderstorm!"

Lily sniffed. "N-no…"

"No? Well, that's good, because you sure look afraid."

Lily peeked up again, rubbing her tear stained cheeks with tiny, grubby fists. She shrugged. John smiled, walked over, and reached down into the bathtub, scooping her up. Lily obliged, stretching her arms over her head as she hadn't done since she was a year or two old. She was precocious even then.

"C'mere," John said, hefting his daughter onto his hip. "I wanna show you something."

He'd carried her past the boys' room, stopping briefly to shoot them what Lily would later come to know as the 'I'll deal with you later' look. The boys looked at each other, then at Lily, who wouldn't look back, then finally their father, who smirked and said, "Yeah, you're in trouble. Good guess, boys," before continuing on to the front porch.

Outside, the treetops swayed in the wind, and the thunder vibrated in Lily's chest. When the lightning flashed again, Lily turned and buried her head in her father's neck. He laughed and used one hand to brush the hair from her face.

"Look at me, Lily Pad," he said gently. "C'mon, you're okay. Look at me."

The girl raised her head slowly, peering into her father's brown eyes with her mother's green ones. John smiled. "Good girl. Now, do you know what lightning is?"

"Scary?" Lily replied quietly, and John laughed.

"Not quite," he answered. Then, "It's your mother," when Lily shook her head after a moment's hesitation. Lily frowned.

"Mommy's in the lightning?"

"Not exactly," John said. "You know that camera Sam sometimes carries around?"

"With Power Rangers on it?" Lily asked. "Sammy says I can't use it, 'cause it doesn't have the pink one, but it has the yellow one, so—"

"That's the one, Lil. You know how it flashes when he takes pictures in the dark?" John continued. "Real quick, but real bright. Just like the lightning, right?"

"Yeah, but smaller," agreed Lily sagely.

"Well, your mom is a lot bigger than Sammy's little camera, right? She had to be to carry you around and sing you that song you like so much."

"_Mon bébé_…" Lily said, and her voice was softer as it always was when she tried to remember anything but her mother's voice.

"That's right," John said with a sad smile. "Baby Mine." The song was a lullaby from Mary's favorite Disney movie, _Dumbo_. She'd sung it to Lily every night since she was born, in French, in hopes that she and Lily could watch the movie of the young elephant and his journey to find his missing mother together. They'd never gotten the chance, but Lily had never forgotten the song. "The lightning is like the flash from Sammy's camera. It's Mommy looking for you from way up in the sky, so she can take a picture of how fast her little girl is growing up."

Lily's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

John nodded. "Really."

Lily was silent for a moment, watching the sky. John watched as her head listed toward the crook of his neck. Her thumb had found its way halfway to her mouth before she remembered what he'd said about it and stopped. Before he had a chance to feel guilty about stealing away the last vestiges of her childhood, Lily said, "Do you think she'd be able to find me faster if I sang the song, Daddy?"

John Winchester swallowed hard. "Yeah, Lily. I do. You sing that song every time you see a little lightning, or another storm or anything else tries to scare you, and you remember that your Mom is looking out for you, okay? Even when Sammy or Dean or I aren't there, you sing that song, and everything'll be okay."

Lily turned back to her father, concerned. "Daddy, why are you crying?"

John tried to smile. "It's just been a while since…since I heard the song, Lily."

Lily smiled gently and touched her father's cheek with a tiny hand. "Do you want me to sing it for you, Daddy?"

"I'd love that, Lily Pad. Thanks."

Lily cleared her throat professionally and turned back to the sky just in time for the brightest flash yet to illuminate her mother's green eyes. "_Mon bébé, si joli…"_

**

* * *

**

"Where're you going?"

"Just to pick up some breakfast." Lily had moved from her bed to the second-story railing of the Settle Inn Motel, though she couldn't remember doing so. It was just after five am, and the place had yet to come alive. She stood, content, in the Midwestern, early summer thunderstorm, watching purple-white blades of light plunge like daggers into the gray flesh of the stormy sky. Water sheeted down the sleeping cars in the parking lot and pounded the thin roof overhead. Lily's bare toes were getting wet. She stared with vague interest at the darkening hem of her pajama pants.

"What, in this? We can drive…" Dean yawned, coming to stand beside his sister, "during a reasonable hour."

Lily smiled, looking out at the parking lot. "This _is_ reasonable. I got up earlier than this for crew every day at school. Besides, the donuts'll only be hot for so long."

"You know they have heat lamps for that sort of thing, right?"

"Not the same."

"Maybe you're just picky."

"Hey, you don't have to eat them. More for me."

"Aw, trying to catch up with Sasquatch's old donut record?."

"I stopped 'trying' years ago, Dean. Do you really want to test me? I will make you cry."

Dean laughed. "I'm sure," he said before falling silent. He yawned again as he listened to the rain pound the earth. "Was that the song Mom used to sing to you?"

Lily looked up. "What song?"

"You know, that one from the elephant movie? You were just singing it."

Lily looked back to the parking lot. "Was I? I didn't realize it." It was true. Amber had caught her singing it more times than Lily could count back at school. She'd hum it under her breath, or sing it while going through class notes. Amber had pointed out once that she only did it when she was upset or missing…someone (not that Amber knew who, of course). Lily's former roommate was especially tickled because Lily didn't actually understand an ounce of French. It was Amber who'd translated the lyrics for her. Lily's curriculum-required foreign language was Italian.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Lily said sagely. "Just…thinking."

"About?"

"A lot of things. The rain. Mom. Dad. The night I left…"

Dean stiffened. "Why? You headin' back to that freak school?"

"No. And it's just a college, Dean. I was just…remembering it. The night I left, I mean. I don't know why."

Dean turned to her uncomfortably. "Look, Lily…"

Lily was torn between wanting to interrupt, and wanting him to continue. But she didn't know what to say, and she didn't know what he would say, so she just stared. Evidently, Dean had been expecting an argument.

"I…I just…" he started.

"You know, this is awful close to a chick-flick moment, Dean," Lily said wryly.

"Yeah, you're tellin' me," Dean said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Just then, Sam burst out onto the porch, pale and unsteady. Lily's heart jumped to her throat.

"Sammy?"

"Guys, we gotta go. Now."

* * *

**As promised! The song, originally in English, is called 'Baby Mine' (originally sung by Betty Noyes) from the 1941 Disney film, _Dumbo_. The version featured in the video and the story is the French version, called either 'Mon Bébé' (My Baby) or 'Mon Tout Petit' (My Little One). I *hated* this movie as a kid, 'cause it is so darn sad, but it is a classic, so if you haven't seen it, do! Anyway, enjoy the song and the video. **

**EDIT: The site won't let me put up the link in the story, so either go to YouTube and search 'Mon Tout Petit' OR go to my profile information and use the link there.**

**Sorry for the inconvenience! I'd fix it if I could. =/  
**

**More love! ~CA**

**PS-For the record, I speak Italian and Spanish, not French. =) Ciao!**


	17. The Man in the Purple Suit

**Okay...it's been...months, I know, and I am SO SORRY. Things have been pretty hectic since getting home in May, and my job leaves me literally no time (or sanity) to write much. I'll be publishing my next chapter in the next week or so (extra long!) to make up for my absence, and hopefully in the next couple weeks, I'll be back to a more normal publishing schedule. Thank you so much for your patience! As usual, questions, comments, concerns are all welcome.**

**I'll also be editing the first fifteen chapters in the next couple weeks, so don't be alarmed if you're getting extra notifications.  
**

**Even after a million weeks, the Winchester boys still aren't mine. /sigh**

**3**

**

* * *

**"Sam?"

"I'm fine, Lily. Really," Sam assured his sister for the umpteenth time in twenty minutes. And, again, the grimace of pain didn't leave his face as he massaged the bridge of his nose. He still looked pale, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

"Yeah, you look fine," Lily said, folding her arms and sitting back to look out the back window again.

"It's not like this is the first time," Sam said through gritted teeth. "We told you about the…the visions weeks ago."

"Yeah, but…" But now that she was seeing them, it was different. Why was Sam having vision of the future? What was wrong with him? And her dreams lately…what was wrong with _her_?

"But what?" said Sam, sounding almost defensive. She looked up to find him looking back.

"Uh, nothing," Lily said quickly, turning to gaze back out the window at the rain soaked fields. "I just didn't know they hurt you."

"I said I'm fine," Sam said after a moment. "How far are we?"

"From Texas? 'Nother coupla hours." Dean glanced up from the wheel without bothering to hide the concern on his face. "Hang in there, Sammy."

"Drive faster," was all he said.

* * *

"Looks like one hell of a party town, eh, Lil?" Dean said three hours later, nudging his sister as she climbed out of the Impala and into the early noon sun of Bear Creek, Texas—population: 362. "Kinda place you can just see a guy shootin' himself for no reason."

"Shut up, Dean." Sam was not in the mood for jokes. Lily sized him up. She and Dean had forced some food into him when they'd stopped for lunch, and judging by his lack of apparent sensitivity to sunlight, the headache wasn't bothering him anymore, or at least not unbearably. Still, he was on edge. His shoulders were tense, and he appeared to be trying to take in the entirety of his surroundings twice over.

"Sam, you need to calm down—" Lily started. Then a car at a nearby stoplight backfired, and Sam all but knocked Lily to the ground in an effort to push her behind him.

"Sam, what the hell!" Lily grumbled, catching her balance.

Sam ignored her, staring out into the street, until Dean bumped him. "Hey," he said, low enough Lily could tell she wasn't meant to hear. "You alright?"

Sam appeared to return to himself and glanced back to Lily. "Sorry, Lily. I didn't…I mean, it sounded like…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Lily said. "Look, let's just find the guy and get out of here, yeah?"

"Right," said Sam. "The guy I saw…he was…kind heavy. Real tall, balding. In a weird business suit, too. Burgundy, or something. Almost purple, like…"

"Like that?" Lily said suddenly, pointing across the street, where a heavy-set man in a plum colored suit was talking on his cell phone.

Sam's face went slack. "That's him. Right there, he's on the phone, like in my vision. We gotta—" He didn't finish the sentence, instead darting into the lazy midday traffic.

"Hey! Sam, wait!" Lily called, sprinting after him. Dean was right behind her.

"Sam! Sammy, c'mon, you gotta think about this, man. What if—"

"What if nothing," Sam panted. He'd reached the other side of the street with little more than a few annoyed motorists to speak of, but now he was tailing the purple-suited man, weaving between elderly couples "This is it, Dean. This is my vision. We don't have time to think about it."

"We're right behind you, Sammy," Lily said, tailing her older brothers while simultaneously trying to apologize for them. "But—"

Then several things happened at once. Lily, so focused on keeping up with Sam's long-legged stride she couldn't watch what she was doing, barreled into someone. Her half-formed apology was interrupted by her own startled yelp of pain.

Dean stopped abruptly at the sound, turning to steady her. Sam, too, slowed, paused, and circled back, though Lily didn't miss his eyes shifting nervously back and forth through the meager street crowds, following the man in the purple suit.

"Lily?" The hint of concern in Dean's voice was nothing compared to what Lily read in his eyes. She hid a smile.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "We should—"

"Hey…" came another voice. The kid Lily had run into looked no older than Sam, and more than a little guilty. "Is she okay? I didn't mean to…I wasn't watching…"

"What the hell'd you do to her, man?" Dean said, shoving the kid and advancing toward him.

Sam interjected before Lily could, placing himself between his brother and the suddenly-anxious bystander.

"Hey, Dean—"

"Whoa, wait, I didn't do anything!" the kid objected. "I was just coming to see if she was okay—"

"Yeah, that's why you look nervous as hell." Now Lily had a hand on Dean's arm…though the smile was getting more difficult to hide. She'd forgotten about how intense Dean's protective streak could be.

"No, I just…just…" The kid looked about to piss himself. Suddenly, he took a breath and said, "Look, just get away from me, okay? Leave me alone."

Dean's face changed suddenly as he registered the plea. Lily let her brother go, wincing as his movement sent another flare of pain through her ribs. The watched the other kid, face carefully blank.

"Yeah, alright, dude, whatever," Dean said, backing off. The kid wasted no time turning down the street, but Lily followed him with her eyes. "Lil, you okay?"

"I'm…fine," she said slowly, straightening. "Did something seem…off about that kid to you?"

"Aside from him trying to hurt you? Kinda short," Dean said.

"Chill, Dean._ I_ ran into _him_. I'm not made of china, kid. And no, I mean…nothing weird? Like…different weird?"

"What?" Dean said, raising a brow. "No. Are you sure—"

"No time, guys, c'mon." Sam was already back on the tail of the plum-suited man. Lily glanced at Dean, shrugged, and took off.

Sam, by now well ahead of his siblings, managed to head the man off half a block down the road. First he, then the man in the purple suit turned into a small store.

"Where's he going?" asked Dean.

Lily pointed to the hand-painted sign that hung over the tiny doorway. "_Arms in Arms,_" she read. "Gun shop. Must be the one from his vision. C'mon."

They'd just barely entered the threshold of the store when the fire alarm screamed, echoing like tens of thousands of banshees. Through the wide store windows, they could see the annoyed and confused looking storeowner usher the two or three customers out, a bewildered looking purple-suited man, and anxious looking Sam among them.

"Hey," Dean caught his brother's arm as Sam left the store. The middle Winchester looked almost comatose, save for the fear in his eyes. To see him made Lily feel ill, useless. She wanted to fix him, wanted to help, like John had bade her.

Dean was there first. "You alright? Is it over?" Sam didn't respond, his eyes still distant, still following the man in the purple suit. Dean shook him. "Sammy! Hey, man, you okay?"

Sam blinked suddenly and looked at Dean. "What? Oh. Oh, yeah, I think so. Look."

The blank look which had been inhabiting the plum-man's face since he'd gotten off the phone almost ten minutes ago had faded. He looked more than a little confused to find himself two blocks from where he started, but after a moment, he simply shrugged and started on his way again.

Dean looked relieved, but not more than Sam. Still, it was Dean who spoke first.

"Good," he said, subtly—but firmly—turning Sam away from the street corner the man now waited at. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

Sam shook his head. "We still got a case, man. The guy gets a phone call and decides to off himself? That's not normal. We should at least check it out."

Dean cocked a brow at his baby brother. "Really?" he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "You sure you can—"

"Dean!" hissed Lily, and this time it was she who pulled her brother aside, leaving a still-edgy Sam on the sidewalk, just staring after the purple-suited man.

"What's up, Lily?" Dean said. Oblivious. As usual. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam.

"What do you mean 'what's up?' You were just gonna drag Sam out on a hunt, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah. We got a case, he's ready to go—"

"He's lying. And you know it."

"Well, a little tense, maybe…"

"He nearly trampled me when a car backfired," Lily said, hands on her hips. "He's not okay. I don't know how long this has been going on, Dean, but it's getting to him. He needs to relax. You and I will finish."

"No. No way. I'm not taking you out there by myself."

Lily rolled her eyes, massaging her rib cage absently. "Right. Just remind me when you get over yourself."

Dean snorted. "Don't hold your breath," he said. Then, frowning, "You hurt? What the hell did that dude do to you?"

Lily took a step back, though she didn't take her hand from her side. "Quit, Dean. I'm fine. Just a bruise or—"

The pain flared quite suddenly as Lily ran her fingers over a tender spot, and Lily turned to where Sammy had been without really knowing why. Only now he was sprinting across the street…to where the man in the purple suit was speaking on his cell phone.

Lily reacted without thinking. As she had always been, the youngest Winchester was also the fastest. She'd had rare opportunities to prove as much to her brothers and father, but somehow they'd all suspected as much.

Even so, Dean felt as if a miracle had just occurred. One second, he's been standing with Lily, discussing Sam's wellbeing. The next, she was with Sam, in the road, barreling toward the man in the purple suit, with a speeding semi barreling toward them.

Before the scream of terror and pain had even left his lips, Sam and Lily were lying in the road, winded, shocked, but safe.

The man in the purple suit, however, was gone. Half a block down the road, there was a dark shoe, a crowd of frightened people, and the near-tears semi-driver.

Dean could just hear the screams from where he stood, unable to take his eyes off his stunned siblings where the lay in the road.

"I didn't see him! He just stepped out into the road! Didn't even think about it! Just threw down his cellphone and stepped into the road...like he was in a trance."


	18. Brotherly Love

**Aaaaaaalright! It's me! I'm back, and I am SO sorry for the wait. I wish I could explain, but really, it's such a long story, it's hardly worth it. Also, I know we'd all rather hear about Winchesters-even the fictional kind, right? So, thanks for you patience, if you're returning. I couldn't do this without you! And if you're new, I hope you enjoy, and I promise I won't ever leave for five months straight ever again.**

**Also, since I've been gone since forever, I'm gonna post a lot. The next chapter is long-three parts!-and I've already uploaded the one after that. Thanks again, guys, and enjoy!**

**PS-As if we need reminding...the Winchesters are still not mine. *sigh***

**

* * *

**"Sammy, please. You have to eat."

"I thought it was over. I could have saved him."

"Sam, this isn't your fault."

Sam and Lily sat at a quiet diner booth. Lily was dangerously pale, but Sam was the one in shock. After seeing the man obliterated by the truck, Dean had sent them both to go eat while he called Ash for some help on what they were dealing with.

"C'mon, Sam, please. You need to eat something. At least drink your soda." He wouldn't even look at her, and she was growing concerned.

"I could have stopped him. I _should_ have stopped him. I just…I thought it was over…."

Lily sighed and moved in next to her brother. "No one's blaming you. It's not your fault. You did what you could. Your vision didn't happen. That man walked out in front of that truck because of someone else."

"But I should have stopped him…" His voice held no inflection; his eyes were blank. Lily sighed and looked around; it was too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It was themselves and a few older couples in the small dinner. Lily smiled grimly.

"Alright, Sammy, time for me to return the favor." She walked around to his side of the booth, grabbed his shoulders, and forced him to turn toward her, putting her hands on his knees to call him back to the present moment. "Look at me, Sam. Look. Listen to me, okay? C'mon, Sam, you gotta give me something. Listen to me. I'm here, alright? I'm _real_. _Me_, Sammy. Lily."

Sam gazed at her listlessly. "What are you –?"

"Don't talk. Listen. How do you feel?"

"I don't –?"

"I mean _what_ do you feel?"

"I dunno. Noth–"

"Shuddup," Lily cut him off. "You feel the chair you're sitting in, right? The floor? My hands? Anything else?"

"What? No. Just—"

"_Concentrate_, Sammy. Focus."

"I—" Suddenly, his breathing hitched, and he was hyperventilating, gasping for breath, his eyes darting about as if he hoped he might _see_ an available cache of oxygen. Lily almost smiled. _'Oh, how the tables have turned.'_

"Lil." He sounded scared.

Lily only inched closer, looping her arms around his waist. "You're okay, Sammy. It's okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe."

She noticed with some pride (and a little jealousy) how much more quickly Sam was able to regain control. No more than twenty seconds or so had passed before his breathing returned to normal and he could meet her gaze shrewdly.

"What'd you do to me? Since when were you a shrink?"

Lily grinned and shrugged, though she pushed Sam's food toward him. "Aw, c'mon, I've been taking care of you since I was a kid. All in a day's work, Sam. And what can I say? I'm a pro."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well…you doing alright?"

"'Course," Lily lied. "We got a cadaver lab set up at school just for this."

"For dealing with your brother's failures? Really?"

"Don't be melodramatic, Sammy. It wasn't your fault. Okay?"

"Yeah. Right."

"I'm serious."

"She's right, Sam. Look."

Both of the younger Winchesters turned to look as their older brother sidled into their booth, casting curious glances at both of them.

"Sam's not eating," she said before either of them could oust her lie.

"He will," said Dean confidently, though neither of them missed the look he sent Sam as he slid a page full of handwritten notes across the table.

Sam ignored it, delving greedily into the case lead. "What's this?"

"Ash's research," Dean answered, clearly not appeased, but wisely choosing to move on. "List of local house fires the year Lil was born. Look at the fifth one down."

Sam canted his head to one side. "You called Ash? I thought he was busy."

"What?"

"Yeah, remember? You said it was no use going to the Roadhouse, 'cause he was working some other intensive case for Ellen."

"Oh, well, yeah, but—"

"Wait, all of these were…" Lily said suddenly, still sifting through Dean's notes. She frowned. "House fires? The same year I was born? The year—"

"—Mom died. Yeah," Dean finished, while Sam scanned the page. He quickly explained about the one or two others they'd found with powers like Sam's—visions, telekinesis, the works. And nearly all of them had lost their mothers in nursery fires.

Lily felt sick. "Guess it's not a coincidence, then," she said blandly.

"Hardly," said Sam without looking up from his paper. "Look—born April 4th, that same year: Andy Gallagher. Place of residence—"

"Lemme guess," interrupted Lily. "Bear Creek?"

"Where else?" said Dean. "Finish up, boys and girls. We got ourselves a hunt."

* * *

An hour and a half later, Dean was dozing in the front seat of the Impala, which idled outside of a small diner six blocks from where Mr. Plum had died. Sam hadn't taken his eyes off the side entrance since they'd parked there twenty minutes ago, waiting for Andy Gallagher to get off work.

Lily, however, who was much less used to what Dean affectionately called 'The Stake-Out', was sprawled on her back in the rear seat, her feet dangling out the window.

"Oh. My. God," she breathed, her voice the very essence of adolescent exasperation. "How do people deal with this heat? What is this? Bear _Creek_, Texas? Where's the creek?" Suddenly she laughed. "Maybe they meant _Bare_ Creek. You know, like…bare? As in nothing there? Because it's all dried—"

"Yes, Lily, we get it. Thank you."

Lily sat up to punch her brother in the arm. Sam didn't even look at her.

"Well, someone's being a Negative Ned," she muttered, though by now, both she and Dean were studying him carefully. He'd lost some of the tension he'd been walking around with all day, but waiting for the man who Sammy thought had spilled blood on his hands was not helping the situation.

Dean glanced at Lily, who shrugged, then nudged Sam. "C'mon, Sammy. Loosen up. It's not like the guy's gonna walk out of the diner, guns blazing or anything. Hell, he works in a diner. The most threatening thing he's ever touched is a spatula."

At the same time, the side door opened. They all heard a bright female voice say, "See you tomorrow, Andy!" and Lily had just enough time to think, _'Well, that was serendipitous,' _before a kid—a very _familiar_ looking kid—no older than Sam stepped out, stained apron tossed over one arm. He spotted Dean at the same time Dean spotted him. Half a second later, Dean's car door slammed shut.

"Ho' boy," muttered Lily. She and Sam were already following suit, close on Dean's heals as he approached the kid—Andy—who Lily had 'assaulted' on the street only a few hours ago.

"Andy?" said Dean, his voice somehow singularly accusatory, though he only said the boy's name. "Andy Gallagher, right? Man, you know, I never been one for coincidence, but this is just too much to ignore."

"Who–?" Andy's eyes fell on Lily, then shot back to Dean's. His face changed immediately. "Wait, you're the chick from the street? It was an accident! I already told you that!"

Dean was advancing on the poor kid like Andy himself had trashed the Impala. "Yeah, I'll bet the two guys you've killed in the last week were an accident, too, right? I knew there was something weird about you, kid. What the hell'd you do to my sister?"

"Wait, Dean—" Lily tried to wedge herself between the two men. "He didn't—"

"Why are you following me?" the kid asked suddenly. "Tell the truth." He stopped backing up, and put out an arm, brushing Lily bruised side, causing her to wince.

"Lily—?" Sam was there, too, trying to pull Dean off Andy, when Dean suddenly straightened.

"We're following you," he said petulantly, "because we think you killed some guys with your freaky psychic powers, but we're torn on just killing you like we'd normally do, because frankly my brother here is one of you guys, and I don't know what the hell to do about it."

All four of them froze as they tried to comprehend what Dean had just said. Dean, for his part, looked most surprised of them all. Sam was first to recover.

"Dean? What the _hell_, man?"

"I don't–"

"Whatever," Andy said, looking confused and cautious. "Just…get away from me, alright?"

Lily felt a sudden compulsion to leave, despite standing between her brother and the creepy kid from before. It occurred to her suddenly she didn't _want_ to leave; she _had_ to. "O…kay…Sammy?"

"Wait," Andy said suddenly, stopping both Dean and Lily in their tracks, and leaving Sam just looking…confused. "Leave the car."

Lily was horrified. No way Dean was leaving the car. There was almost a greater chance of him leaving her or Sam behind, but—

"Sure," said Dean, and while it was most definitely strained, it was genuine.

"Dean, stop!" said Sam again.

"Working on it." There it was again—that same, strained tone from before.

Sam looked back and forth between his sister before turning on Andy, who now looked confused and nervous. "Stay away from me," he said, backing up. When Sam continued toward him, he frowned and said it again. "I said stay away. Stay—"

"Doesn't work on me, Andy. I'm one of you." Lily and Dean watched from a distance, though Lily was tempted to step forward. Sam was tense—angry. She could see it even from here. She knew he blamed Andy for the deaths he'd been too late to stop.

"Sammy—"

"Stop, Lily. Stay here." Dean put a hand on her shoulder, though he didn't take his eyes of Sam, either.

Andy, for his part, frowned. "What do you mean 'one of you'? I don't—"

"Stop. _Lying_. I know you…you caused those deaths." Sam stopped. Grimaced. Lily flinched. He really _was_ angry.

Andy paled. "_What_? What deaths? I never killed anybody!"

"You…" Sam grunted, "You're telling me you don't anything about that guy that just died?" He sounded skeptical, to say the least. Or something. There was a tone to his voice that bordered on…what? Lily couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was unsettling.

"What? Who died? Where? Look, okay, so I maybe cheated on a couple card games, but I never—"

"The doctor? The one that just got trucked by that semi?" Sam's voice was sounding more strained by the second. It was losing it's angry edge, in fact.

Lily frowned as Sam brought up the heel of his hand to massage his eyes, still grimacing.

"Sam?"

He showed no signs of hearing her. "Yeah, right, that's…that's why…that…"

And then he was doubled over, groaning in pain, head in his hands.

"Sam!" Lily broke free of Dean's restraining hand; not that it mattered. He was right behind her. "Sammy!"

Dean went to his knees beside Sam; Lily, on the other hand, had had enough of this kid, who'd given her the creeps in the first place. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" He was at a loss, confused, concerned, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth between Sam, now crouched on the ground, and his siblings, who watched Andy closely. "I swear, I didn't touch him!"

"It's a vision, Lil," Dean said, and she could hear in his voice the sincerity and concern.

It seemed like hours, Andy apologizing the whole time, though he didn't leave. It was probably minutes, seconds even, before Sam agreed with Dean, though his voice was rough, and he spoke through his teeth. "He's right, Lil. I'm fine."

"What'd you get?" Dean said.

"Woman at a gas station," Sam said, straightening, sounding as if he was waking from deep sleep with a bad cold. "She…she killed herself, man. A fire."

Both Dean and Sam shot a glance at Andy, who flinched back. "I didn't—"

"It was at a Chevron. Any of those near—"

Just then a fire truck raced by. Sam looked at Dean, who jerked his head after the truck. "Go."

Sam shook his head. "I'll stay here. You go check it out."

Dean nodded. "Gladly. Lil, you should come with me."

Lily was staring at Sam, silent. It was the first of his visions she'd experienced, and she didn't like how pale he was. She shook her head. "I'm staying with Sam."

Dean shook his head. "No, you're not. We don't know anything about this kid 'cept that he can make you walk in front of a bus."

"_What_?"

"He won't," Sam said coolly. "I won't let him. Go, Dean. Hurry."

Dean looked at Lily, then at Sam, who was staring at Andy, who had the same perplexed, vaguely anxious look on his face. Then Dean was gone, and Lily was left, torn between making sure Sam didn't kill Andy, and making sure Sam didn't overexert—and therefore kill—himself. It was…a different side of Sam. Lily couldn't remember him getting so angry when they were children.

Suddenly, she shifted, aware that Andy was watching her. Sam spoke in a harsh snarl: "You say one word to her, I'll kill you right now."

"Sam…" Lily was taken aback. She got weird vibes from the kid, yeah. And yeah, Sammy had reason to hate him. But the vibes weren't murder vibes, and Sam wasn't Dean. "Calm down. Relax. It's over now."

Sam didn't take his eyes off Andy when he spoke. "That's what we said last time."

Lily was silent, but Andy still looked edgy and confused. "What is he—"

"Hey!" barked Sam. "I told you to shut up."

Lily turned and looked at her brother. "Sam. Sammy. Look at me. Look, Sam." When he did, reluctantly, she put her hands on his arms. "You have to relax, okay? You look like hell. If this _is_ the guy, nothing is gonna happen while we're here. It's okay. Take a breath."

"I'm _not_ the guy," Andy persisted, and now Lily was annoyed, because she could only restrain Sam for so long. She turned on Andy, now, sizing him up. Up close, he looked scared, younger…maybe her own age. Now that she considered it, if the kid has lost his mother in a nursery fire the same year she was born, it meant he'd be close to her age. If all the kids Sam and Dean had described running into were like that…it would explain the dreams she'd been having. But what about Sam, then? He'd had a run in with the Yellow Eyed demon, not her. He was the special one…wasn't he? Her dreams didn't come true. Her dreams weren't even visions, so much as…well, she couldn't even put words to them. So, what did that make Sam? And what did that make her?

Sam's phone rang; Lily snatched it from where it'd fallen free from his pants pocket, ignoring the glare Sam sent her way., and glad for the distraction from herself that it offered.

"Hello?"

"Well," Andy started, rising from the ground. "Guess I'll just be going now…"

"Shut up," Lily and Sam said at the same time. Lily went on to say, "Hey, Dean. Yeah, we're fine. What'd you find?"

Neither Sam nor Andy could hear what Dean said, the way Lily turned to look at them—both of them, first Sam, then Andy—made the latter sit back down.

"What?" said Sam finally.

"It's not him," Lily said, eyes on Gallagher. "It's his brother."

"I told you so," Andy said in an almost comical paradigm of victory. And then confused, "Wait…what?"

"You," she said, handing Sam's phone back to him, "have an evil twin."

* * *

**Thanks everyone! Remember, the next part will be up by tomorrow evening!  
**

**Love,**

**CA  
**


	19. A Shot in the Dark, Part A

**Starting from where we left off. Thanks again for reading! I love reviews (including criticism!) so type to your hearts consent.**

**I Winchester non sono miniera!**

**Love,**

**CA**

* * *

"I…I mean, I guess it makes sense, now that you explain it. I was adopted, so I guess I wouldn't know if I had a twin…But…"

Forty-five minutes later, and Andy Gallagher plus the Winchester crew were back in Andy's diner, though the place was closing up for the night. Andy was on his third Diet Coke—the closest thing one could find to a hard drink in Bear Creek. And considering everything Dean, Sam and Lily had loaded on him in the last half hour, he deserved at least another half dozen.

Once Dean had reached the gas station and confirmed Sam's story—the woman had burned to death just minutes before he got there—they'd figured out Andy couldn't be responsible…probably wouldn't have been even if they hadn't seen his alibi with their own eyes. He'd nearly fainted when Lily retold the story to begin with. So Dean had called Ash to figure out what was up; as it turned out, Ash had new information on the case.

Apparently, Andy was born a twin. Both twins were put up for adoption. Andy had gone to Bear Creek with the Gallaghers, while Chris, his twin, had gone to…Bear Creek.

"Wait. Hold the phone. You're telling me Chris—Chris _Crenshaw_—is my twin? My evil twin?"

"Your _fraternal_ evil twin," Dean explained. "But yeah. And he's been screwing things up a whole lot worse than you."

Andy and Chris (whom Andy knew through a friend of a friend) shared the same ability to manipulate people's thoughts. And while unambitious Andy used it to get extra French fries, Chris was killing people. Quickly. And it wasn't random people, either. Each person killed—first the man who'd insisted the twins be put up for adoption, then the Doctor who'd okay'd the procedure, then their birth mother—was indirectly responsible for keeping to two psychic siblings apart.

"So…what?" said Andy, looking like he expected to wake up at any moment. "What happens now? I go…tell him to stop?"

"Something like that," Dean said, glancing at Sam. "_We_ go tell him to stop. With a .45."

"_What_?"

It was hard to say who sounded more shocked—Andy, Sam, or Lily. It was Sam, however, who recovered first.

"Dean, what are you talking about? We can't kill this guy—he's human!"

"He's killing people."

"So, we turn him over to the cops!"

"And, what, tell them he _told_ a guy to walk in front of a bus? Damn him, scum of the earth!"

"Look, Dean, we can't kill him. We gotta…talk to him first."

"Talk? Sammy, last time this guy talked to someone, she got taken away as a pile of ashes. It's too late to talk. He's using his freaky-ass powers to kill people, he dies. No gray area."

Sam was silent, though Lily could practically taste his disgust. And his self-loathing. "So, what about me?"

"What do you mean what about you?" Dean said, half exasperated, half distracted as he cleaned his shot gun.

"Where do I stand on this? No gray area, right? So, what, am I human or a freak?"

Dean looked up as if he'd only just realized what he'd said. "Sam, it's not like that. You're not a monster."

"Why not?" Sam shot back. "What makes me any different from Chris? From Andy?"

"You're not killing people, for one thing."

"Neither is he," Sam said, gesturing fiercely at Andy, who seemed as intent on disappearing as Lily felt. "Should we kill him, too?"

"No—"

"Well, he could start," Sam returned. "Hell, Dean, I could start. After Jess died—"

"You're not _like_ him, Sam!" Dean said, all but throwing the gun down. "Why can't you just _let it go, _man? He's a killer, you're not, and you never will be. You got through Jess, you got through Dad! Quit being so damn pessimistic. You are _Sammy_. You're my brother. You're Lily's brother. You're not a monster, so stop with the self-pity. We don't have time for this. I've got a plan."

Dean's tone was many things: finishing, (almost) reassuring, falsely confident. But underneath all this, Lily detected a hint—just a hint—of uncertainty.

Sam must have, too, because he said so low, Lily almost missed it, "Yeah, that's why you told Andy you weren't sure about me."

* * *

'The plan', as it turned out, was not nearly so complex as one might assume such a sensitive operation had to be. Andy, accompanied by Sam, would corner Chris after work, confront him about what he was doing. Lily and Dean would watch from a safe distance—the latter with the shot gun.

"I'm not taking any chances," Dean had said gruffly. "You say this guy deserves to live, fine, but he makes one false move, he's outta options."

Sam had agreed reluctantly, for his siblings' safety if nothing else. But when it was time for the plan to come into fruition, there was a hitch. Because when Andy and Sam got out of the Impala two blocks from the hardware store where Chris worked, and when his eyes fell over them, it was not fear, apprehension, confusion, or even anger Sam read in them.

It was acknowledgment. Then joy.

"You must be Sam," he said, folding his arms over his chest. He nodded a greeting to a stunned Sam before turning to Andy. "Hey, Andy," he said congenially. "Or should I say, 'hey, bro?' Glad to see you finally caught up.

"What do you mean, 'caught up?'" Andy said, glancing at Sam as if the middle Winchester had answers.

"Don't play dumb, dude, 'ts a bad color on you."

"Oh, he's not playing anything," Dean muttered from where he was crouched on the roof of an apartment across the alley. Perhaps not the most surreptitious of hiding spots, but he could see well enough, and thanks to Sam's hidden speakerphone, he and Lily could hear everything. It was the only way they'd agreed to let him go face an almost-serial killer unarmed and by himself. And besides, why would he be searching the rooftops? He clearly though he was getting away with murder.

But things were different now. Chris not only knew about Andy, but somehow he knew Sam, too. Which meant they were in trouble.

"Dean," Lily hissed, tucking away her binoculars (Dean was peering through the sight of his shot gun), "we have to get out of here. Plan's off, Crenshaw knows Sam, we—"

"Give him a chance, Lil. If Sam's right, we might not have to kill the guy."

"Oh, _now_ you're the voice of reason," Lily grumbled, though she hadn't missed the anxious edge to his voice.

"How do you know my name?" Sam said, back on the street. "Where–?"

"Sure, I guess I can tell you now. I know about you, Sam Winchester, the same way I know about my twin brother here. Same way I know about how we all are getting trained for an army…if only some of us can shape up a bit." Crenshaw put an arm around Andy's shoulder, who shook him off as if he carried the Black Plague.

"Whoa, what? What're you talking about? I'm not going into any army, powers or—"

"Not like that, you're not, little brother. Why do you think I've been trying to get your attention? First Doctor Jennings, then our birth mother…"

"That was…our…?" Andy didn't seem to be able to speak, but Sam, who'd already known this, thanks to Ash's research via Dean, could.

"What are you talking about? What army? Who told you all this?"

Chris sighed heavily as if he'd forgotten Sam were there. He was clearly enjoying this little 'reunion' with his brother.

"The dude with the yellow eyes," he said as if Sam had asked him what two and two was.

Lily felt Dean stiffen next to her, and was sure Sam was doing much the same thing. She had yet to meet this mysterious demon, but she knew enough about him. Knew he was the one who'd killed her father, who almost killed Dean. Killed her mother, and Jess, ruined Sam's life and set their house ablaze. And Sam, apparently, wasn't the only who'd suffered.

_"What about me?"_ she had to stop herself from screaming suddenly. _"My mom died in a nursery fire, same as everyone else, same year, too! So what's wrong with me!"_

But Sam once again saved her from herself. "How…how do you know him?" he said, clearly trying to maintain his composure. Even from here, Lily could feel the strange aloofness, like he couldn't find his footing—the same way he'd looked after she'd asked about Jess on the day they'd said goodbye to Dad.

"Who, Yellow Eyes? I told you, he came and found me. Told me about my powers, about Andy and his powers. He's training us up, man. A whole army. You and I, Andy, the others—we're the lucky ones. He's got plans for us. All of us. "

"What plans? What 'others'?" Sam shot back.

Chris shook his head. "Look, all I know is if I'm getting rewarded to do what I want, these powers are a blessing, and I'm not giving 'em up."

"Chris, you're killing people."

Andy seemed to have found his voice again, uncertain as it was.

"No one important, Andy." Crenshaw's voice was genuine. Almost hurt. The sibling bond, Lily realized, went far beyond good and bad. "Just the assholes who tried to keep us apart."

"You're killing innocent people, dude! You gotta stop!"

"No way, man. You just haven't reaped the benefits yet. You haven't even scraped the surface, Andy. You have no idea what you're capable of. What _we're _capable of."

"Not murder."

Crenshaw laughed coolly. "Can't know until you've tried."

"That's it," growled Dean suddenly, startling Lily from where she sat, frozen in abstract horror, staring through her binoculars at her pseudo-comatose older brother. "This guy's done." She heard him click the safety off, exhale slowly as he took aim.

"Dean, wait…"

But either she'd lost her voice…or she didn't mean it.

"You want me to try to murder people? What, for some…dude with yellow eyes? Chris, you know who has yellow eyes? Bad guys in cartoon movies, that's who. There's gotta be another way—"

"Shut up," Chris growled. Now he was angry. His attempt to connect with his long lost brother had been shirked. It hurt. "You're coming with me, or I'll convince the mayor that it's a good idea to mix arsenic into the town water system."

"Convince this, freak," Dean muttered as he put his finger on the trigger, peering through the sight.

Suddenly, Chris turned to look directly at him.

"I see you."

And though he hadn't spoken a word of command, Dean suddenly felt compelled to turn the shot gun around. Lily, for her part, couldn't move, and sat frozen, staring at her brother as he laid the barrel of the gun against his throat.

"Dean…" The word was supposed to be a scream, but Lily suddenly felt as though someone were crushing her windpipe. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't speak, she couldn't stop Dean from—

"Lily, look away." Dean's voice was remarkably still, as were his hands at the butt of the gun.

"Dean, no! Fight him! You have to fight him!" The screams were coming now, ripping painfully up from her throat, tearing her vocal chords to pieces, rendering the words almost incomprehensible. "Dean, please!"

"_Dammit_, Lily, close your eyes!"

"I can't, Dean!"

"Lily—"

"_Fight him_!"

"Lily, I love—"

_Bang._

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_**Does it count as a cliffhanger if I'm posting the next chapter immediately? I don't think so. Well, you guys deserve instant gratification! *heart***_  
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	20. A Shot in the Dark, Part B

Lily dropped to the ground in a fetal position. She supposed she was shaking, maybe crying as well, but if she was, she had no knowledge of it. Likewise, the roof was dirty, damp, probably covered in an inch-thick layer of bird dung. It probably coated her hair and clothes as she lay there, writhing in agony, and she was probably filthy.

But she didn't care. For all she knew, the building could have evaporated into a cloud spewing sunlight and rainbows. Her father and mother could be standing over her with a puppy and some passing grades. But she couldn't look. She couldn't open her eyes. To do so would be to see the pool of hot, red life seeping toward her, to realize the cold truth, to acknowledge her brother was dead, and she'd seen it happen.

Funny that now, she couldn't even remember it. She could remember the look in his eyes as he'd screamed at her to look away. She couldn't remember the fear she'd felt, remember the sound of the blast. But the actual moment when it had happened, she couldn't see. She'd already blocked it out, and she supposed she was grateful for that. All that she knew—all that she _needed_ to know—that Dean was

"Lily, look at me."

dead. Dead, and already she was hearing voices in her head. She'd lost it real quick, hell she could almost smell his leather jacket, almost felt the worn sleeves around her. She was shaking, she finally realized, shaking hard, and her breathing was harsh, loud and ragged.

"Lily, breathe. Look at me. Look up. You can look now."

Wait. Wait. This was not Dean's voice. It was, but not as she'd ever heard it. It was part concern, part, fear, part rage…but also part sympathy. A combination she'd never heard, never expected from Dean. Her subconscious couldn't make that up. She looked up sharply.

"Dean?"

"It wasn't my gun, Lil. It was Sam's." And then suddenly, everything had changed. She could hear again, see again, breathe again. They were still on the rooftop, still sitting alone in the dead of night. Dean looked…grave, but unharmed. And he was there, _God_, he was there, and alive, and whole. He kept talking, but Lily didn't hear him. "Crenshaw's dead. Gallagher shot him. He got Sam's gun and shot Crenshaw when he wasn't looking. I'm okay, Lil. Everyone is okay."

"Dean?" It was all she could say. She couldn't remember having been so glad to say it.

"_Look_ at me, Lily. I'm alright." He was knelt in front of her, one hand on either of her shoulders as if to confirm his presence with physical contact. She supposed she was grateful, but right now she couldn't feel anything but relief.

"I thought…I thought…"

"I know. I know. Look, Lily, just breathe. It's okay. It's over. For real this time, it's over."

* * *

They all slept for twelve hours the next day.

Andy had convinced the cops that Crenshaw had shot himself; Sam (who'd noticed that Andy was already getting stronger, and more confident with his power) and Dean had warned–threatened, really–him to stay on the straight and narrow. Then Dean had driven six hours to some nameless town north of Dallas and all three Winchesters had crashed. The entire drive had been tense, but even Dean had known the subject of what had happened to Crenshaw—and why—would come up eventually.

He just didn't expect it to be before he got any sleep.

It was early evening when they arrived at the motel, but given the last twenty four hours, Sam, Dean, and Lily were more than ready to sleep. Sam, who hadn't said a word since they'd left Bear Creek, was out as soon as he hit the bed. But Lily sat up on her tiny fold-out couch for forty-five minutes, before whispering through the relative dark.

"Dean." It wasn't a question. They both knew they were both awake.

"You can't sleep either?"

"Wanna go grab some donuts?"

"Sure."

They left a note for Sam and set out to find the closest donut shop. But as soon as they got outside, and it was clear they weren't going anywhere.

No sooner had the door shut, then Lily turned to Dean and said, "What did Dad tell you about Sam?"

When Dean stopped short and looked at her, she knew she'd guessed right. And she was ready to argue the carefully composed look of feigned confusion on his face for as long as it took.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," she said levelly. "I saw the look on your face. In the diner? Back in Missouri, right after we burned Dad. When I was telling you about the letter. I started telling you something he'd written about you…But I stopped. I don't know why, just felt like the right thing to do. Felt private. Sam doesn't know, does he?"

"Doesn't know what, Lily? What are you talking about?" Dean had regained himself after his initial surprise, and was in full defensive. Too bad.

"About Dad. About whatever he told you about Sammy. He told you something bad, didn't he? That's why you're being secretive about it. I've seen the way you look at him, like he's…like he's about to burst into flame or something. That's why we didn't go to the Roadhouse before the hunt. Dad knows something about Sam, and you don't like it."

"What? No. Lily, you're exhausted. C'mon, let's get you to bed—"

"What's gonna happen to my brother, Dean?" Lily finally cried in exasperation. Dean turned to look at her, more than a little taken aback. And while neither her voice, nor her stance betrayed her fear, her eyes did. He wasn't, he realized suddenly, the only one who considered himself responsible for Sammy's wellbeing.

"Lily…" he started, stepping forward.

She took a definite step backwards. "Don't you tell me that nothing's gonna happen. That everything is gonna be okay. I know you're lying. You're keeping something from me, from Sammy. What is it? You're not alone, Dean. Don't make this about you. This isn't a hero mission. If you tell me, I can help. He's my brother, too. Please, Dean. I have to know. What did Dad-?"

"He told me…" Dean began uncomfortably. He wanted to share the burden. Hell, he'd give it away first chance he got, all of it. But how could he give it to Lily? She thought she wanted the truth, but how could she know? It was too big for her to handle. He was about to say as much when he caught that look in her eyes. No. He had to tell her. If she ever found out something had happened to Sam that she could have prevented—or that she thought she could have prevented—she'd never forgive him. "He said…something is gonna happen with Sammy. He told me I have to save him, or…or…"

"Or what, Dean?"

"Or kill him."

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**One more part! Though it's pretty short, it wraps up the chapter...kinda.**


	21. A Shot in the Dark, Part C

Lily felt numb all the way down to her toes. Even her mouth seemed to be broken as she finally choked out a single word:

"What?"

"He said—Are you okay?" Dean caught his sister at the elbow just in time to keep her from falling over. She was far too pale and her eyes were unfocused. "Hang on, Lil, sit down."

"No. No, I'm fine. What do you mean…Dad told you to…kill Sammy?" Dean's silence was answer enough, and then Lily was pushing away from him. "What? Why? When? How? He told you to kill Sam? That's it? No explanation, no nothing? Just—"

"I don't know any more than you, Lily! That's why I didn't tell you. I just…I dunno. But it doesn't matter. I'm not gonna have to kill him. I'm gonna save him."

"What do you _mean_ it doesn't matter?" Lily cried. "Dad told you to _kill_ Sam!"

"Dammit, Lily, I don't know! All I do know is that it's not gonna matter. I'm gonna save him, alright? I'm gonna save Sammy. I promise. Okay?"

Lily was silent for a long minute. Then she said, "Not without me you won't."

Dean shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. "Lily, this isn't your job."

"God, Dean, stop it! Just stop it, okay! You are not an island unto yourself! I am your sister, Dean, and Sammy's your brother, and Dad was the one crazy enough to…to tell you that. I don't want Sammy to die, alright? But that doesn't mean I'm gonna sit back and let you do all the work. You need me, Dean. Like it or not, you're not going to save Sammy. We are."

Dean was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "No. No, Lily, I'm sorry, but if I lose you, too—"

"You never asked what else Dad wrote in my letter."

For a second time that night, Dean stopped, looked at his sister, confused and surprised. "What?"

"My letter. I only told you part of it. How do you think I knew Dad said anything at all?"

Dean blanched suddenly. "What did he tell you? Do you-?"

"No. No orders to murder my brothers. But he told me he told you something. Something bad. Something that could only be stopped if I stayed around to help. That's why I stayed, Dean. Yeah, I missed you guys, and yeah, I wanted to look out for you. But Dad made it sound like if I left…Sammy would die. I can't watch that, okay? I can't." She paused, eyes stinging with unshod tears, and Dean walked over awkwardly, but she pushed away again.

"Lily…"

"I don't remember Mom's death," she said, turning to gaze over the empty, darkening parking lot, "And I missed Dad's. Please, Dean. Please don't make me watch Sammy's." She laughed, though it was a bitter, tearful sound. "I wouldn't know how to handle it."

Dean watched his sister for a long minute, then shrugged. "Alright," he said. "Alright, I can't believe I'm saying this, but…yeah. I could use your help, Lil."

Lily looked up sharply, caught between distress and hope. "Help you, what, Dean?"

"We're gonna save Sammy, Lil. You and me. We're gonna do it, alright? You don't have to worry. Nothing is gonna happen. I promise. We're gonna save him."

"Hey, guys," came a voice suddenly, both weary and betrayed. "Gonna save me from what?"

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**And that's it! I know it's super short, but the next chapter will be up in no time. Thanks again for your patience, guys. Turn in soon for the next chapter! I'll give you a hint: more Weechesters! **

**Massive love,**

**CA**


	22. School Days

**See? That wait wasn't so bad, right? I hope to keep posting chapters quickly (though they won't come once a day). But I've already started on the next one, so it should be up within a couple days. Thanks again for reading, and I love hearing your comments! I'm also wondering which Winchester story to cover next. Which do you want to hear most? Let me know!**

**You know what I'm gonna say, so I'm not even gonna say it.**

**Love,**

**CA**

**

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**_"So…given that a is equal to b, and b is equal to c, we can theorize that c is equal to…"_

_ "The best grade anyone's gonna get in this class?"_

_ The rest of fourteen-year-old Dean Winchester's classmates laughed; they had to. Even though he'd only been at Orange Grove High for two weeks, even though he was just a freshman, they had to laugh. Dean Winchester could do no wrong. Cute, popular, and funny, he was somehow instantly likeable to anyone who met him. _

_ Except, of course, teachers. Mrs. Greene was not exempt from this unfortunate stigma. Her Electric Cherry #4 lips hardened into a thin line as the classes laughter died down. Dean stared back with a casual, overconfident sort of grin on his face. It was the sort of confidence so rare in her students, in any children his age, and it turned her stomach to see. Secretly, she was jealous. She didn't know many _adults_ with confidence like his. And it was annoying._

_ "Mr. Winchester," she started._

_ "Y'know, babe, you could probably be pretty cute if you didn't frown like that all the time."_

_ The laughter this time was not so subtle, and just as poor Mrs. Greene was about to explode, the classroom door opened. Every child—except Dean—turned to look at the guest as if an invisible puppet master had bid them react at the same time._

_ Mrs. Greene's smile was eerie. "Vice Principal Willis," she said. "How very…convenient."_

_ "I'm sure," the man replied tersely. "Just here to pick up Mr. Winchester—you're wanted in the office."_

_ Again, that invisible hand that was mob mentality—or else the latent need to be normal and conform—guided the other children to look at Dean, their expressions equal parts awe and apprehension. (_'He's like their king,'_ Mrs. Greene thought bitterly.) The class turned in unison to stare at Dean, who only shrugged as he stood. "Remember what I said about that smile, Greenie," he said, escorting himself out of the classroom and down the hall to the principal's office. _

_ He was excepting another slap on the wrist. Another boring, disappointment-infused speech on how he wasn't reaching his potential. Perhaps a threat to call his father, who would, of course, not answer, because John Winchester was doing more important things. Why Dean hadn't been invited, he couldn't guess, but he could only assume if John didn't want him to know, he probably shouldn't know._

_ Yes, Dean Winchester was expecting all of these things. What he was not expecting, however, was to enter the principal's office to see Lily and Sam Winchester sitting meekly on one side of the big desk, looking as if they'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar…and as if the cookie jar had fought back. Lily had a bloody lip, and her tights were torn. Sam's eye was already blackening, and his knuckles were raw and red._

_ Dean paled. "What the hell—"_

_ "That's what we're hoping to find out, Mr. Winchester. Your siblings refuse to talk to anyone but you."_

_ Dean looked up, having almost forgotten the principal was there. A woman in her forties, whose erstwhile beauty was still more than evident in the amused glance she gave him._

_ "I trust you'd like a minute?" Dean could have kissed her._

_ "Yes, ma'am." It might surprise Mrs. Sandra Greene to know her least favorite student was not quite the heathen she thought he was._

_ "I'll be just outside. Try to hurry this up. We tried callng your father, but—"_

_ "He's on a business trip," Dean interrupted, flashing that charming smile of his. Candace Hilty smiled to herself, suddenly understanding why the student of two weeks had so many friends. _

"_I'll tell him, promise," he continued, with such an earnest look in his green eyes, Principal Hilty might have believed him…had he not looked so earnest._

_ She raised her eyebrow in a way that said neither she nor Dean believed the words, but turned to leave anyway._

_ "Guys…" Dean said, as soon as the door closed behind him. He knelt in front of six-year-old Lily's chair. "Lily, you alright?"_

_ She nodded, suddenly grinning, though it caused fresh blood to trickle down her chin. "Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. I hit the other kid a lot harder. He cried," she said proudly._

_ "Some kid _hit_ you?" Dean said, getting to his feet. Hell if anyone got away with—_

_ "Don't worry," Sammy said suddenly, speaking up for the first time since Dean had arrived, though he looked significantly less pleased with himself than Lily. "I kicked his ass."_

_ "Sammy!" Lily gasped, eyes wide. "That's a bad word!" She seemed to have forgotten she was in trouble._

_ Sam ignored her. "I walked outside and there was a bunch of kids, and in the middle, some kid was on top of Lily, Dean! What was I supposed to do? He was twice her size, and—"_

_ "He was _not_ on top! You only saw the last part, I—"_

_ Sam grinned. "She really _was_ winning. You shoulda seen her, Dean, she—"_

_ "You guys forget why you're here? They called me form class because you two got in a _fight_? If Dad had had to come down here, he woulda…" He trailed off. He didn't need to finish._

_ Sam and Lily were silent, staring guiltily at each other, then Dean._

_ "Sorry…" Lily said meekly._

_ "Me, too," Sam said. "We didn't mean to get caught."_

_ "Yeah, well…you did." It was silent for a moment, then Dean grinned. "So, you really made the kid cry, Lily?"_

_ The girl looked up, uncertain, then grinned. "Yeah! He was saying bad stuff about Sammy—" Dean looked at Sam here, who didn't look back, "—so I told him to stop, and he pushed me, so I punched him, like you showed me, and then I kicked him in the—"_

_ "Right," Dean interrupted, laughing. "And Sam?"_

_ Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "I heard the kids yelling, and I came outside. I saw him hit her, so I—"_

_ "Good job, Sammy."_

_ Now it was Sam's turn to look eager and pleased with himself. "Really?"_

_ "Some kid was beating up Lily? Hell, yeah. I woulda killed him. I still might," he added, his voice taking on a dark tone for just a second. "You guys did good. 'slike Dad said. We gotta watch out for each other. One day, we're gonna be all we got, right?" The words were empty, recited instinctively, as though inbred. But every once in a while, Dean stopped to think about the words, and gave pause._

_ Lily, however, did not. Not yet, anyway._

_ "Right!" she quipped. At that age, she was so eager to please her older brothers. _

_ Ten-year-old Sam's answer was slower, and he held Dean's eyes for just a second too long as he answered, "…right." _

_ Outside, the secretary and the principal kept hearing bits of their conversation. After the third or fourth swear word, the former looked up._

_ "Shouldn't you be in there?" she asked in a way that made Candace think it was less suggestion, and more reminder._

_ The woman smiled dryly and sipped her coffee. "No," she answered. "The other kid's fine, and the Winchesters'll probably be outta town soon as that dad of theirs gets back, if their academic history is anything to go by. Besides," she added musingly, turning towards a window, and away from her somewhat nosy secretary. "I had a kid sister growing up. I'd have done the same thing."_

_ "They're an…interesting set," the secretary said, sounding both skeptical and defeated._

_ The principal raised a brow. "Do you have any siblings?"_

_ "No, ma'am," the woman answered brightly, as if she knew she were answering a very difficult question correctly. "Just me and my parents."_

_ "Then you wouldn't understand," the principal responded coolly. "That sibling bond…it's the most important thing a kid–or an adult–could ever have."_

_ "Well, that fades, I'm sure…" tried the other woman, sounding, if possible, more defeated than before._

_ And the principal looked quite serious, and ten years younger as she said, "No, Laura. It doesn't. Ever."_

_

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**Thanks for reading! And remember to let me know which season 2 episode you'd like to see next! (Or even a non-filmed episode!)**

**Love,**

**CA**


	23. Family Feud

**AHHH! AGAIN! Sorry this has taken so long, guys! I've actually had MASSIVE portions written for over a week, but only just gotten around to tying them together. I was about halfway through this when I realized following every detail of the episode was probably not going to be super fun for anyone, so I've been making editations like crazy. Anyway, it'll be another week or so before I'm completely done, but I do have another two chapters for you after this, hopefully more.**

**Thanks again for bearing with me, all. ALSO: I wrote a oneshot loosely based on this story called 'Of Pointe Shoes and Motorcycles'-it's a gift to you guys, so read and enjoy!**

**Also, sorry about all the clichè chapter titles lately. Next one's different, I promise. **

**Finally, don't be afraid to let me know what you think! I've been writing some other chapters lately, and Lily's about to go through some character changes, so let me know what you like/don't like. She's a central character, and it'd be super inconvenient if we all hated her. D=**

**They're not mine. Massive hearts,**

**CA

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**Bobby Singer climbed out of the beater he'd driven to Hanover, NH, wrinkling his nose at the sheer odor that rose from the seemingly unoffending gray pavement of the Squeeze Inn. It was only about nine o' clock at night, and the motel appeared mostly deserted—_with good reason_, he though dully—but even so, he could hear muffled shouts coming from somewhere on the second story landing.

"Damn kids find themselves worse digs every damn day of the week," he grumbled, as he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket.

"Well, I got the place right. Let's room 204, that'll put them right over—"

"God, would you guys just _shut up_ for two seconds!"

The muffled shouting he'd heard before escalated quite suddenly as a very familiar voice preceded a very familiar face on the second landing directly in front of room 204. Lily had emerged from the room, opening the door and slamming it behind her, leaving the shouting to swell, then diminish suddenly. She looked as harried as any overwhelmed babysitter pacing back and forth across the three feet in front of the door from whence she'd come.

"Stupid, immature, selfish, childish, bull-headed—"

"You gotta thesaurus up there?"

Lily turned to look at him so fast, she could tell the words on the tip of her tongue were not nearly so polite as the ones she'd just been using. Before the expression on her face softened to one of relieved surprise, Bobby might have laughed. If normally docile Lily was ready to snap at a stranger, the boys must have pushed her pretty far. Indeed, he could still hear a muffled argument continuing behind her.

"Bobby? What are you doing here?" Her face suddenly changed from surprised to annoyed. "Did they drag _you_ into this stupid feud, too? Ugh, I swear, it's like I'm living with a bunch of kids again! You'd think they'd at least—"

"Whoa, whoa, Lily, calm down. The boys just called for a little help on the case. Guess they didn't tell you?"

"They haven't told me anything the last few days," Lily said, exasperated. "They're too busy trying to one up each other with their stupid little pranks, like we were all kids in the back seat of the Impala again."

Bobby chuckled, remembering those days all too well. A small nostalgic smile lingered on his face for just a minute; they'd been different then, all of them. Back before John had—

Suddenly, Lily turned and pounded one fist on the door. "Will you _SHUT UP!_" she screamed, turning around to hit the door as if she expected her fist to go through. It didn't, of course, and Bobby could hear muffled swear words from where he stood in the parking lot.

"Maybe things'll settle down a bit if we find somethin' for y'all to do," Bobby suggested, swallowing a laugh. It seemed like the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was to antagonize Lily. "If nothin' else, I guess I can send the boys out to get some ice for that hand o' yours, darlin'. You gotta a temper just like your brother's, don't you?"

Lily rolled her eyes as Bobby mounted the stairs at the end of the parking lot, moving to open the door for her as she cradled her bruised fist to her stomach. "Which one?" she grumbled, bracing herself to head back into the fray.

Inside, nothing had changed. Dean and Sam were facing off as they had been for over a week now. In truth, Lily preferred it to the alternative—after Dean had told Sam what John had said, Sam had disappeared for two full days. It was torture, and not just because she and Dean were worried about him. Without Sam, there was no buffer between the more reserved of the two Winchesters. With Dean the way he was, and Lily the way _she_ was, they had shared no more than a handful of sentences between them for the interminable hours their brother had been missing. They didn't know where he was, when (if) he was coming back…And the last time things had been that way was only days before Lily had left home, something neither of them were eager to recall. When he had returned, the apology had been awkward…stilted, only half way there, and accompanied by Dean's first prank.

Now, as Sam shouted at Dean about his laptop, frozen on some nameless website where girls had too little clothing and too much...everything else, and Dean led his rebuttal with his malfunctioning car, Lily cursed her oldest brother's inability to cope with anything without humor. She'd known the prank war would ensue, just as she'd known she would be powerless to stop it. It had been the same thing—though usually with less grim proceedings—when they were children: one of her brothers would start something, the other would try to one up them, and before Lily could even get a word in, they were at each other's throats. Whether they'd decided not to include her before she was born, or if they actually did it for her safety, she was never sure. But she was never included, and it infuriated her on more than one level.

And so, standing on the threshold of the Battle Royale, she took one look at the ongoing mess and shook her head. "Forget it," she said to Bobby, grabbing her bag and shaking out her wounded fist as if to wash her hands of the whole situation. "If they ever figure out I'm gone, tell 'em I went to interview our guy. They know where I'll be."

Before Bobby could even ask what that meant, Lily had slammed the door and stormed away, leaving him in a veritable war zone with the two eldest Winchesters. He sighed heavily, then took a breath.

"Alright!" he roared, effectively silencing them by means of surprise. It was rare the Winchesters saw Bobby raise his voice for anything that wasn't an emergency. Then again, all things considered…

"I could hear y'all twenty miles out. You ain't kids no more, ya idjits. And y'all got much bigger problems on your plate than who got who last, or ya never woulda called me. Now, someone wanna catch me up on what's going on? And where th'hell did Lily just go?"

This, at least, cause both boys pause, if nothing else. Dean frowned. "Lily's gone?"

Bobby grinned ruefully. "Thought that'd get a reaction. She said you'd know where she was going."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, we do, just weren't planning on her going by herself."

"Yeah, well, if we had the Impala, we could all go," Dean muttered.

Sam didn't skip a beat. "And if I had my computer, we wouldn't have to."

"Look, Sam, I don't know what the hell is up with you, but I didn't—"

"Oh, really, Dean? No ideas? No inklings about 'what's up with me'? Because I could—"

"Boys!" It took quite a bit to surprise Bobby Singer, but seeing the two Winchester boys at each other's throat for something that wasn't related to the hunt or their father was more than enough. He looked back and forth between them, his expression a combination of confusion and annoyance. "Now, I'm real close to thinkin' yer sister had the right idea. You got about two minutes before I head out that door, and then y'all can figure this out for yerselves, alright?"

Sam pushed his laptop aside, instead shuffling through a stack of papers—printed at the library—and old books to produce a week-old copy of _The Dartmouth. _

"It started—" Sam began. Again, Bobby cut him off, gesturing to the paper he'd just unconvered.

"_The Dartmouth_?" he said. Until then, he'd just thought it was an uncanny coincidence that had brought him to a crummy motel in Hanover, New Hampshire. He hadn't even realized yet how close to Lily's school it was. "Like—"

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean said, throwing himself across a bed (Sam's bed, if the middle Winchester's expression was anything to go by). "We're back at Lil's school. Surprise."

**

* * *

**

As she passed by one of the campus's local newsstands, Lily felt an odd sort of reluctant nostalgia at seeing her school's front page again. It was hard to believe she was only a few miles away from where she'd spent the last two years of her life—without her brothers. And while it was nearly impossible to imagine going back to that life now, leaving her family behind for academia…she couldn't deny she was curious.

She probably never would have even considered coming back—at least not this soon—if Amber hadn't sent her that text message last week. It was the first communication they'd had in over a month. It had been frequent right after she'd left school, but the longer she was away, the scarcer the messages became, until they stopped altogether.

Then she'd gotten this one, in the middle of the night. Amber was nearly in hysterics, because her favorite professor had killed himself. Only he hadn't, Amber insisted. And she was sure of it.

At first, Lily had dismissed it as a drunken text message, and sleepily consoled her former roommate with a few somnolent words of wisdom. But when she'd woken the next day and caught the story on the front page of a local newspaper, a few things had alerted her to the strangeness of the story. Why would a presumably happy, tenured professor with a wife and two kids kill himself? And how funny that it should happen in a 'haunted' building. Haunted, at least, according to the student beat section.

After all, Amber had an imagination, and the musings of a freshman reporter were hardly anything to go off. Lily wouldn't have given it a second thought, if the story hadn't been followed two days later with a campus interview.

Ben Drake—star of the football, baseball and hockey team, and the single most popular frat boy on campus—had been…abducted by aliens.

Lily hadn't even intended to share the would-be _Enquirer_ story with her brothers, but she was so startled to see the story (she'd been browsing the school paper, nostalgic after the article a still-mourning Amber had sent), that she'd exclaimed loudly (and profanely) enough in her surprise, she'd warranted their attention.

The story was strange enough—and the prank war annoying enough—that the Winchesters decided to check it out, as a favor to Lily and, by extension, Amber, if nothing else. Since then, things had only gotten stranger. And more frustrating.

That was why Lily had opted to go check out Drake's story—alone—while Dean and Sam (with the help of Bobby, apparently) looked into the other cases they'd found. Drake had only agreed to meet her at an off-campus bar. He didn't want to be seen (or heard) by anyone else after the forty-eight hours of ridicule he'd endured. It was fine with Lily, because she wasn't exactly ready to crash any parties just yet. If she ran into someone she knew, it would require a whole lot of explaining she didn't have the time or energy for. As of yet, she hadn't even told Amber she was in the area, and she'd had to lie to Drake (who recognized her name—there weren't many secrets in the Dartmouth athletic community) that she was a cousin of a girl on campus who could help him with his 'problem'.

Still, when she walked into the crowded bar, seeing more than one familiar face, though luckily no one she knew by name, it was a little off-putting to say the least.

Drake was easy to spot. Even without being a hulking mass of unhappy teen, he seemed out of place, like he didn't fit his own skin. And Lily supposed, given recent events, it might be true in more way than one. She could practically see his ego, sagging around him like a deflated balloon as he sat in one dark and quiet corner, four or five shot glasses as his only company. For a second, she felt badly for him…like she was about to exploit his obvious suffering. Which she was.

Then she sat down at the table, and pulled out her tape recorder, setting it between them and flicking it on.

He looked up at her, surprised, but either too drunk or too depressed to be startled.

"You the…the…the…what's it called?"

"Most people call me a clairvoyant," Lily lied, thinking quickly. "You can call me Alice." She held her breath as he studied her face, knowing full well that 'clairvoyants' didn't exist…and if they did, they wouldn't hang around to help out frat stars who were convinced they'd been abducted by aliens.

"Alice, eh?" he said finally, sitting back in his chair. "Aren't you kinda…young for this?"

Lily shrugged, smiled. "Hey, the power chooses the person, kid. It's all about…uh…spirituality. And stuff." She had to struggle not to laugh. Dean would be having a field day with this.

Drake stared at her for another minute, before shrugging and taking another shot. "So," he said, wincing slightly as he swallowed. "What do you need from me?"

"Well," Lily said, nodding to the tape recorder. "Why don't you start by telling me what happened?"

Ben Drake snorted, then belched. Lily held her breath for an entirely different reason this time. "Shouldn't a cl…clair…clav…"

"Clairvoyant." _'Idiot.'_

"Yeah…shouldn't you already know what happened?"

Lily sat forward. "Look, you said your name was…Ben, right?"

"Drake."

"Right. Well, Drake, buddy, it doesn't quite work that way. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I don't need to help you." She stood abruptly, and turned to grab her recorder from the table…when a heavy hand fell on hers, swallowing it whole, recorder and all.

"Wait." Lily sensed in the single syllable more emotion than she'd heard from the erstwhile jock all night. It was desperation. "Wait, I'm sorry," he continued. "Just…sit down. I'll tell you everything. But you gotta promise this doesn't get out to anyone, alright?"

Lily nodded without saying a word. Easier to lie that way.

"Alright," Drake said, pounding another shot as Lily took her seat again.

"Here's how it went down."

* * *

**Next chapter up soon!**


	24. Alone in the Moonlight

**Like I said, I tried to make this chapter move a little faster, so if there's something that doesn't make sense, or it's *too* fast, lemme know! Enjoy!**

**Hey, you know what's not mine? The Winchesters. Also, Bobby.**

**Love,**

**CA**

**

* * *

**_"What paper is this for again?"_

_ Sam struggled not to strangle the pretty blonde, who, in the entire five minutes he'd been crammed in at the table with her, had done nothing but flirt with him, and kiss her boyfriend._

_ "_The Hanover Daily_," he said again, trying to mask his frustration. He hoped Dean was having better luck than he, though knowing Dean, his older brother was probably just convincing pretty co-eds to buy him expensive beers._

_ The girl frowned. She was around Lily's age, he guessed, maybe a year or so older. Too old to be acting so dumb in public, anyway._

_ "Is that a thing?" she said._

_ Damn. Maybe she wasn't as dumb as she seemed. But before Sam could make up an answer, her boyfriend nudged her._

_ "Yeah, it's a thing," he said in a tone that would have been condescending if he weren't so drunk. "Dude, my uncle was totally in that last year for winning…something."_

_ "Really?" the girl's eyes went wide. "You are so cool."_

_ Her boyfriend grinned. "You are so hot," he said._

_ Sam rolled his eyes as the two proceeded to make out. Again._

_ "Look, guys, this interview'll just take two minutes of your time…"_

_ The lovers managed to tear themselves apart for a moment to look at Sam. "Right, so you wanna know about that professor that offed himself, right?"_

_ "He didn't kill himself," the girl replied in earnest. "It was a ghost."_

_ "Babe, there's no such thing."_

_ "Yeah, there is! My friend Kelsey—she's in my sorority with me. Tau Upsilon Omega?" she explained to Sam quickly, staring at him expectantly, as though she were waiting for him to write it down. When he didn't move, she shrugged, and went on. "Anyway, she told me the horndog was killed by the ghost of this one chick who used to sleep with professors."_

_ "Horndog?" Sam said, raising a brow._

_ "Yeah, totally," the girl said with an air of absolute conviction. "Prof Markham was always sleeping with his students. You know, to boost their grades."_

_ "He was boosting something," muttered her boyfriend, snorting with laughter into his beer._

_ Sam looked at the kid, then back to the girl. "Right…so you're saying this professor was…sleeping with students?"_

_ "Well, the girls, yeah. And only the cute ones. But anyway, the crazy thing is that he was killed in that building where a girl died like…forever ago. Same room, and everything!"_

_ "I thought he jumped…" said Sam._

_ "Well…he jumped from that room. Room 669." She leaned in close, conspiratorially. "Get it? Like…if you turn the 9 upside down?"_

_ By now, the boyfriend was laughing out loud. "C'mon, baby, you don't actually believe that BS, do you?"_

_ She sat back, pouting, and hit him. "Shut up, Jeff! It's true," she added to Sam._

_ "Right," he said, standing to excuse himself. "Uh…well, I got what I need. Thanks."_

_ The two were so absorbed in their argument (which Sam was sure would dissolve into yet another make out session, anyway), they didn't notice him walk away._

_ Dean, for his part, was at a bar, flirting with a fake blonde, whose neckline was several inches too low, while her hemline was several inches too high._

_ "Figures," muttered Sam. "Hey, Dean—"_

_ "Hey, buddy!" Dean whirled around, nearly spilling his drink…and his date, who giggled then belched._

_ 'Charming,' Sam thought. Aloud, he said, "Look, Dean, I was talking to some kids, and—"_

_ "Yeah, yeah, me, too," said Dean, jerking his head toward the girl on his arm who reeked of Vodka. "This is Starla. Dude…she's got a sister."_

_ 'Starla' belched into her hand, seemed faintly surprised to find a wad of chewed gum there when she withdrew it, and threw it to the floor before offering Sam the same hand._

_ "Hi," she said with a wink, which nearly caused her to lose her balance—_

**xxxxx**

"Dude, you gotta be kidding me!"

"What? Dean, it's not like your great taste in women proceeds you!"

Dean, Sam, and Bobby were at the motel, still attempting to recount—in a non-biased way—the goings on of the last several days.

They were failing.

"Her name wasn't 'Starla', alright!"

"Yeah? Then what was it?"

There was a long pause. Bobby looked at Dean, who glared at Sam, who looked back with an expression of smug satisfaction.

"Look, the name doesn't matter, alright? She was a classy lady. And if you're not gonna tell the story right—"

"_Someone_ better tell the story," Bobby interrupted impatiently.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. The latter gestured. "Be my guest," he said sarcastically.

"Fine."

**xxxxx**

_'She' was a first year grad student studying mythology and the supernatural. Until then, Dean hadn't known you could make money off what he did. But that was of little concern to him now._

_ "So…what were you saying about this professor…"_

_ "Markham," she said, and even the word seemed to smolder. _

_ "Yeah, Markham. What about him?"_

_ "I'm sorry," she said, taking a step closer to him to trail a finger down his chest. "You are just…so attractive. I'm having some trouble focusing."_

_ Dean grinned. "Yeah, I know, baby. But I got a job to do, so—"_

**xxxxx**

"Dean. Just skip ahead to going to check out the building."

"Whatever, man, you're just jealous because she was into me."

"Yeah, like—"

"Boys."

"Sorry." The word came in unison.

"Dean, you were saying…"

**xxxxx**

_There was a janitor waiting for them when they reached the building from which the professor had jumped. _

_ "So…you didn't see anything?" Sam pressed._

_ "Nope," said the man lightly, as if he were being interviewed for commentary on the weather, as opposed to a suicide. "Saw him go in, saw him come back out. 'Cept…you know, the second time, he used the window on the top story. Also, he was dead."_

_ "Top story…sixth floor?"_

_ "What? No, there's only four floors in this building."_

_ "Right," Sam added, unsurprised._

_ "But you didn't see anyone go in with him?" asked Dean._

_ "Well…now that you mention it," said the man, pausing as if in thought. "There was a girl went upstairs with him. I didn't mention it, 'cause from what I heard, it's a pretty normal occurrence. But now that I think about it, I never saw her leave."_

_ Sam glanced at Dean. "Right. Well, we should go, but thanks for your help, Mr…"_

_ "Oh, just call me Jim," said the man good-naturedly._

_ "Jim. Thanks, Jim."_

**xxxxx **

"He didn't say anything else about the girl who followed him in?"

"No," said Dean shaking his head. "But the next day, we found this."

He tossed the front page of the local newspaper.

"'Man found chewed to death in sewer system,'" Bobby read aloud. Frowning, he looked up at the boys. "What…you don't think—"

"We didn't," Sam said. "Until we went to investigate."

**xxxxx**

_Dean had just crammed his fifth chocolate-covered macadamia nut into his fat mouth, when–_

**xxxxx**

"Dude, I had, like, one. Maybe two. And a half."**  
**

"How 'bout—" Bobby interrupted before Sam could launch into another argument, "you just gimme the summarized version."

Sam shut his mouth so fast Bobby heard his teeth click, before reluctantly glancing at Dean, who shrugged. "Well, we went to check it out. Found teeth marks all over the poor guy. And then…"

"And then what?"

"Scales."

"Scales?"

"Scales."

"Like…belly scales," added Sam. "From an—"

"Don't you dare say it, boy." When Sam didn't answer, Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're telling me that poor bastard was killed by an alligator? In the sewer?"

Sam shrugged. "It's our best guess."

"You haven't even heard the worst of it, Bobby," Dean said. "The kid Lily went to interview—total dick, from what we heard around campus—says he was abducted by aliens. We can't say anything for sure, yet, that's why Lily's talking to him, but—"

"So what you got is a couple assholes…and a couple pranks."

Dean looked at Sam and they both looked at Bobby. "What?"

"Boys, I think I know what you got on your hands. Though, to be honest, you two were the biggest clue."

Dean shook his head. "Wait, you know?"

Bobby nodded. "I'd like to hear from Lily, first, but I'm pretty sure…Speakin' o' which, where is that sister o' yours?"

"Hey, where _is_ Lily?" Sam said suddenly, looking at his watch. "It's been almost three hours. What kinda interview is she conducting?"

Bobby frowned. "She has been gone a while; where'd you say she was going?"

"We didn't," said Dean. "She said she got her contact to agree to meet at Stacy's."

"Who's Stacy?" asked Bobby.

Sam just stared. "Seriously, Dean? **Stacy's**? That's the bar we passed crawling with college kids on the way up here. You let her go there?"

"Me?" said Dean, suddenly on the defensive. "I wasn't the one who knew about the place and agreed!"

"Yeah, well, you would have if my computer—"

"You're really gonna turn this back to the computer!"

"Dammit, boys!" Bobby exploded finally. "It's a Trickster up yer asses, alright?"

Sam and Dean, stunned into silence, looked at each other, then back to Bobby.

"A…what now?"

"A Trickster," Bobby said again, scowling. "And like I said, I never woulda figured it out if you two eggheads wouldn't'a been at each other all night. A Trickster is a demi-god from mostly middle eastern lore. Types like them been around a long time." He flipped out his own journal, stocked with ancient notes on the same topic. Sam and Dean pored over them, feeling suddenly fiendishly hungry for the knowledge which had been evading them for over a week.

"They prey on…well, you know, jerks. People they think deserve it. Get back at 'em in funny ways, like a professor who sleeps with with students getting' killed by a dead college girl, or the guy who runs tests on animals getting' chewed to death by a scaly urban myth."

"Or Lily's guy," finished Dean, comprehending. "The jackass who picked on all his frat potentials gets humiliated by aliens."

Bobby nodded. "Exactly. So what we need to do now is go pick up whatever information yer sister got. If we're right, and she says he's the jerk everyone else says he is, and he's got the story to back it up…well, boys, we got some serious planning to do."

Sam and Dean were already tugging on boots to go pick up Lily, when Dean, who couldn't help himself, said, "I told you I didn't touch your stupid computer."

Before Sam could even process the words, Bobby had interrupted.

"I get why Lily decided to stay out," he grumbled. "If I'd been living with this for a week, I'd probably have stayed for an extra drink or two myself."


	25. Wonderland

***phew* I FINALLY got this chapter finished! Since this one took so long, I'm gonna try something a little different with the next section, focus less on the hunting jobs (though they'll be another one or two before, well...you know) and more on the family works. Thanks again for being so patient and awesone, all! You are uber nifty!**

**Hey, you know what's not mine? Yeah, you do!**

**~CA**

**

* * *

**Back at the bar, Lily had gathered everything she needed to know, and was getting ready to leave. Gratefully, too, because the sheer memory of Drake's ordeal had him drinking more and more. It was probably a good thing she brought the recorder, even if it was just for the sake of keeping up appearances, because half of everything he'd said had been slurred and garbled by the time he finished.

"Right, well…Thanks," she said, more than ready to excuse herself from his decreasingly pleasant company. He'd become bitter and cynical, almost angry over the course of the interview, and between his sour attitude and the diminishing bar population, she was beginning to feel edgy. Not that she couldn't handle herself if he decided he didn't like her dredging up best forgotten memories. Sure, he wasn't a demon, or anything, but she knew enough to keep him away for at least long enough for one of the other patrons to notice.

But she wasn't concerned. Drake seemed too sorry for himself to be interested in her.

"Um. I'll be in touch," she said, standing. "Good luck with—"

"Wait," he said, grabbing her wrist for the second time that night. "What'd you say'ur name was?"

Lily looked down in distaste at the meaty fist wrapped around her wrist, struggling not to make a face. He wasn't hurting her—not yet—but the fact that he was touching her was…well, gross. As well as a reminder that two or three of the shot glasses that now filled their table was hers. Drake had been an…_accommodating_ guest at first, concerned that she should 'loosen up', though she was certain his willingness to provide the alcohol had more to do with _her_ forgetting his story than anything else.

_'Well, now they're gonna smell twice as much alcohol on me,'_ she thought to herself, idly checking her watch.

"Alice," she said. "Alice Greene, and—shit! It's after midnight? Fuck, they're gonna kill me! Look, Mr. Drake. Sir. Dude. Whatever. I gotta run, but I'll let you know—"

"Who?"

"Who?" Lily repeated dumbly. "Who what?" '_Where, when, why. You should have taken Sam's interviewer spot, and he could have this idiot,'_ she thought cynically. This was exactly why Dad had never allowed drinking on the job—it addled the brain.

"Who's gonna freak? If'ur late?" Ben pressed.

Lily rolled her eyes. He was persistent. She spat the first answer to come to her slightly looser-than-prudent tongue."My…editor."

"Your editor?"

Oops. Wrong persona. She'd only had a few drinks…but given her somewhat diminutive stature, 'a few' was more than enough. Lily cursed inwardly before trying to fix her mistake.

"I mean…my next client."

His eyes narrowed on her face, apparently not buying the lie. "Hey, wait a second…Don't I know you?"

Lily felt her heart skip a beat. Who would have thought the lumbering idiot would be more on his game when drunk? "No, I—"

"Yeah, you're that one chick on the rowing team with Sarah, huh?"

"Who?" Of course. Sarah Carmichael, her erstwhile teammate, was Drake's girlfriend. How could she forget? Damn.

"She came an' tol' me you hadda leave the team 'cause…'cause you're dad died."

Lily had slapped him before she knew what she was doing. Under other circumstances, she would have been surprised. Just now, her anger overwhelmed the surprise.

"_Shut up_," she hissed. Drunk or not, Dad's death wasn't something to be chatted about by inebriated jock-star frat boys. "Let. Go."

Drake stared in wide-eyed shock for a long minute—Lily doubted any female had ever struck that model-eqsue face of his—before his eyes narrowed. Again.

_'Aaaand more drunken revelations,' _she thought cynically. _'This guy probably woulda passed more classes if he'd just been drunk all week.'_

"You lied," he said slowly, as if just fully comprehending the whole situation…and he probably was. "You lied about helping me, and about the story. You…you're a freak! You're not a cl...clai—"

"Clairvoyant?" she said sweetly.

"Yeah! You're just a liar."

"Yeah, well, either way, I gotta go."

"No way, _Alice_, if that's even your name. If you're not gonna help me, you gotta pay me back some other way."

Again, Lily had turned to hit him before she knew what was happening. But this time, either the alcohol had muddled her mind further than she thought, or Drake was just ready, because before she could even touch him, she found herself against the wall. His beefy forearm was pinned over her shoulders, while his other hand restrained her wrists.

'_Great,'_ she thought bitterly. _'Sam and Dean might actually kill me after this.'_

It occurred to her only briefly that she should have been worried, but really, she was only annoyed. She was certain that if she hadn't decided to drink, she'd have been able to ward Drake off, or at least distract him. She could only guess what kind of trouble she was going to get in now…

Suddenly, she felt a hand graze her chest, and reacted instinctively—if angrily—to knee her attacker in the groin. She was just trying to figure out how best to overcome the growing mist in her head when the pressure across her chest vanished.

Again, she reacted on instinct, hurling a fist in the direction Drake had come from—only to have her attack foiled.

"Lily! Relax. It's me."

"Sam?"

She blinked in confused astonishment. The night was getting stranger and stranger. _'Further down the rabbit hole, Alice!'_

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Sam, as it happened, was still speaking to her. Not paying attention was probably not going to help her case.

"Uh…no…" she stammered. "I mean, he tried, but—"

"Good. C'mon, we're leaving. Dean, let's go."

"Dean?"

Lily was confused, and she was sure it was more than the drinks. How had her brothers just…appeared out of nowhere? And how much had they seen?

Outside, Bobby was waiting, leaned up against the car. Lily blinked. "Bobby? Damn, how many drinks did I have?"

Sam chuckled ruefully somewhere next to her ear. "Enough for you to say that out loud." It occurred to her he was walking very close, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other guiding her toward Bobby's car.

Bobby straightened as she and Sam neared. "Lily? You alright?"

"I'm fine, Bobby," she said, pushing Sam's hands away. "We should just…go."

"Sure," Sam said, pulling open her door. "Bobby, I'll watch Lily. You might wanna go grab Dean, before we have a non-Trickster murder on our hands."

Bobby looked back and forth between Sam and Lily before ducking inside the bar.

Sam, for his part, was staring at Lily, who wouldn't look back for a long minute.

Finally, she said, "Well? What, no lecture?"

"It's coming. Just wanna make sure you remember in the morning."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic, Sam. I had two…three drinks. So sue me."

"I don't care if you had _grape juice_, Lily. That kid was about to—"

"He's twice my size, what do you want from me?"

"You think this is helping your case?"

"What I _think_—"

"Alright, alright, I'm fine, Bobby, geez!"

Both Lily and Sam turned to look to the bar door, where Bobby was all but dragging a petulant Dean away. The bartender (and a significant crowd) stood gazing after them with a variety of expressions ranging from fear, to awe, to annoyance.

"Hey, take your friend home to sober up!" the barman called as they approached the car.

Dean half turned. "That creep was on top of my sister, man. You're lucky I didn't take his ass out!"

Lily watched, sure her mouth was hanging open in humiliated shock, her back pressed up against the car door, subconsciously hoping if she pushed hard enough, it would swallow her whole. She was sure she had never wanted to disappear more in her life. Bobby let go of Dean and walked around to his side of the car. Dean glared over his shoulder before turning to Lily.

"Lily. Are you okay?" He didn't wait for an answer as he looked her up an down, his eyes falling on the red marks around her collarbone and wrists.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, turning back toward the bar.

"Dean, wait!" Lily called, grabbing her brother's own wrist. "I'm fine. I promise. I just…let's go home."

Dean looked incredulous.

"You want to go home? What, now? Because it looked like you were having a great time."

Lily lowered her voice, willing the crowd at the door to disappear. "Dean…"

"No, Lil. I'm wondering why _now_ is such a great time to go home. Why not, oh, I don't know, three hours ago? Before midnight, before you got drunk enough to let some random guy—"

"I'm not drunk, Dean! Quit talking to me like a little kid!"

"You _are_ a little kid, Lily! Somehow, I always get pegged as the irresponsible one, when you're the one pulling stunts like this. Tell you what, tomorrow, when we…go out, you can stay back and continue being a grown up from the motel."

"_What_?"

"If you can't fight off some punk frat boy, Lil, I'm not taking you hunting."

"Dean, you're not being fair!"

"You wanna discuss fair? Come home on time next time."

"You are not _Dad_, Dean! You can't lecture me on curfew!"

"This isn't about curfew, Lily. This is about you not being able to take care of yourself. This…thing we're facing, I've never seen anything like it. I'm not gonna go out there and risk Sammy's ass and my own, because my baby sister can't handle herself!"

"Dean."

She could almost hear the physical blow the words had been. And, given the look on Sam's face, and the tone of Bobby's voice, so could they. She stood there, staring at her brother, trying to remember how to breathe. '_Off with her head!_'

"Dean," Bobby said again, this time half rising from where he sat in the driver's seat. "She's had enough. Get in the car."

There was a second of silence in which Dean looked torn, but Bobby reasserted himself. "Dean. Get in the car. We're leaving."

Dean swallowed hard, still staring at Lily, who glared with back, though the latter was nearly in tears, not that she'd ever admit it. Dean turned abruptly, climbed into the car, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Lily woke the next morning to a thermos of coffee, two bottles of water, some aspirin, and a note. She knew without reading it they'd left without her.

She didn't have the energy to be angry, or try to recall what had happened between her argument with Dean and that morning. She couldn't remember getting back to the motel, or getting into bed, and it didn't serve to help her feel any better.

"Forget it," she muttered, groaning as she sat up. She rolled over, took three of the aspirin, chugged half a bottle of water, then trudged to the shower. They could leave her out of the hunt, but that didn't mean she couldn't get things done.

As soon as she was out of the shower, she called Amber.

"Hey, Amber…Yeah, it's me….Yeah, I know, I should have called. Believe me, I would have, but things have been crazy the last few days. I wouldn't have even called if…No, no, I'm fine, everything's fine, just need to get away from the family for a few days." There was a pause, and Lily forced a laugh. "Yeah, exactly like before school. Well, kinda…Anyway, I was wondering if you had time to hang out? I wanted to talk to you about something…No, it's nothing…Well, I guess it is a big deal. It's just…I…I was thinking of staying. For good."

Five minutes later, the youngest Winchester was on her way to her old dorm.

* * *

**

* * *

Hearts.**


	26. Cold Pizza and Beer

**Thanks for reading! You guys are awesome!**

**No mio.**

**~CA**

* * *

Amber was, as always, her perfect saving grace. They wasted no time catching up, despite the fact that it had been just over three months (three months? Had it really been thee months? True enough, most of her classmates were well into their second summer session. The fall semester was approaching quickly, but Lily had hardly given it a thought. A brief, hazy memory of the argument last popped into her head. Her heart twisted, and she let it go). And because Amber was Amber, and Amber was amazing, Lily didn't have to talk about her father, or the sticky time between his death and her ultimate reunion with her brothers, instead sharing their motel adventures, the few times Sam had driven—and gotten lost—and her frustration with greasy diner food. And in return, Amber talked about classes, boys, and the season's best parties.

Somehow (Lily took it as a sign of Amber's sheer amount of awesome that she didn't remember how), the two old friends started talking about what had happened after Lily had left.

"People talked," she said, and her tone was magically wistful and light. "Of course they talked. All good things, too," she added, eyes twinkling. "Apparently, you can fly and melt steel with your eyes."

Lily laughed, certain she'd never loved Amber so much as she did now. "Duh. How do you think I got in to Dartmouth? I put all that stuff in my essay."

Amber laughed, too, eyes softening. "Man, I missed you. You really think you're gonna come back?"

Now Lily's smile faded. Talking about her brothers, about the three months that had passed without her notice…She'd been hungover and in a bad mood when she'd left this morning, thinking of Sam and Dean and their damn arguing. But now, during the day, she could see Sam there during the early weeks, during her nightmares, and Dean's jacket over her shoulders whenever she woke up from a nap in the car. She thought of Sam instinctively buying her favorite donuts every weekend, and Dean handing her a honey-spiked latte, even when she didn't ask.

And she knew, really knew, it wasn't time to leave. Not yet.

"Not now, Bersey. Like I said, my brothers are hopeless without Da—er, without me."

Amber nodded understandingly. The corner of Lily's mouth quirked upward. Her roommate _rocked_. Before Lily could say so, though, Amber shook her head as if remembering something very obvious and very important.

"Oh! Duh, I totally forgot to mention…they started up a new scholarship for the kids in your 'freakishly-smart-hey-I'm-almost-a-doctor' program."

Lily tilted her head to the side. "Really?" They'd been pushing for such a scholarship for years, but considering part of the bargain was an almost-guarantee to an Ivy League med school… "You're joking."

Amber shook her head. "Hey, I steal your socks from the dryer, but even I am not _that_ evil. Why would I joke? Anyway, you know I have that friend on the administrative board…Obviously, nothing's set in stone yet, but let's just say your chances are good. Like…really good."

"Oh, please," Lily laughed. "We all know the Dryer Monster is at the root of all evil." Then something else Amber said hit her and her eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait. I have a chance at scholarship? Really? _Me_?"

"I mean, yeah," Amber said, smiling. "Between your grades and rowing, and…other recent circumstances, things are looking the bomb-dot-com for you, L-Dub."

Lily laughed. "I thought we talked about that saying. We are not eighth grade boys. But…seriously, you think I have a chance?"

Amber grinned the same goofy grin Lily had grown to miss over the last several weeks. The one that made her whole face light up. "Duh. All you gotta do at this point is come back to school."

Lily shook her head, still reeling. "Man, I leave for a few weeks, and everything goes crazy. How'd you figure all this out again?"

"Listen, _chica_, I can't be repeating myself all the time," Amber scolded lightly, hopping down off her bed. "My friend from the admissions board, 'member?"

"The one you met freshman year?"

"Who else?"

Lily laughed. "Yeah, yeah, of course." There was a pause. "Didn't you tell me you guys got into a fight?"

"Mm?"

"Remember? After homecoming that year? You came home in tears, and we were curled on your bed for two hours, and afterward you said you'd never talk to him again."

Amber snorted and shrugged. "I say things, Lily. You know that. Besides, I was a stupid freshman. What's your point?"

"Exactly that," Lily said, though her voice had changed. She sounded…sad. Almost regretful. Like she was about to do something she didn't want to. "You say things. Stupid things. But you—Amber—always, _always_ keeps her word."

Amber turned to look at her, frowning. "Lily—"

"They veto'd the scholarship first summer session," Lily continued without looking at her friend. "I left school, Bersey, I didn't leave the mailing list." There was a long pause, then Lily said, "You aren't real, are you." It wasn't a question.

Amber returned Lily's sad smile in a recreation so perfect, Lily almost second guessed herself. And then Amber said, "I could be."

"Everything could be," added another voice, and Lily whipped around to find the janitor from the first 'haunted' building standing behind her. Lily was less than surprised. She'd known since that morning, since 'the note' Sam, Dean, and Bobby had left for her, that the janitor, like the bartender who'd broken up Dean's fight last night, was the Trickster. And she'd known he'd known she'd been on her own. She'd known he'd come after her. They all had. So, here she was, both making up for her actions last night, and participating in the hunt. Win-win. Well, okay, win-win-lose. Her brothers weren't keen on the idea of her playing bait, but she'd won them over with logic in the end.

"_He thinks I'll be alone, anyway,_" she'd hissed in a phone call just before she'd left the room. "_He knows you guys know what and who he is. He doesn't even know I'm a hunter._"

"All you have to do is give up this game with your brothers and go back to school," the Trickster continued coolly, as Amber and her room dissolved around them, leaving them a block or so off main campus. "It's not like you haven't thought about it."

Lily shrugged. "Course I have," she said coolly. "Hell, I'm not gonna lie, this is real tempting. But if _you're_ telling me to do it, it's probably not in my best interest."

"As opposed to getting hunted down by demons and human freaks with evil powers?" the man—The Trickster—shot back, one eyebrow raised.

"Hey, it's a dirty job," Lily said.

"And you don't have to be the one to do it."

Then Drill Sergeant Grisham was there, suddenly beside her, handing her a diploma, her transcript—all As now—and more than one grad school acceptance letter.

"Just tell 'em you have more important things to do. They'd understand. After what they've put you through, they'd have to."

Lily swatted a hand at Grisham, who, as she expected, evaporated into a puff of smoke. "And what, _pray tell_," she said, using the words Grisham himself was so fond of, "have they 'put me through'?"

"Well, they sent you here as bait for one thing."

Lily's smile evaporated. Well. That wasn't part of the plan. In an instant of fortunate, yet unnecessary enlightenment, she realized that if he had been the bartender, he might have overheard her interviewing Drake. He _would_ know she was a hunter. _Dammit_. Alcohol: 2, Lily: 0.

The Trickster laughed. "Ah, there goes that bravado. Anything to say for yourself now, Little Winchester?"

The girl muttered something under her breath. The Trickster frowned in annoyance and stepped forward inhumanly fast, to grab her by the throat, lifting her several inches off the ground. If she screamed, he couldn't tell by the strangled noise that escaped her lips.

"Oh, c'mon, Princess. They all tell me you're the funny one in the family. You gotta have something better than that for your last words."

"I _am_ the funny one, so thanks for that," Lily gasped. "And I said 'look up the word _bait_, asshole'."

"Wha—" Lily dropped roughly to the floor as the Trickster stumbled away, cradling his now bleeding head.

"You alright?" asked Dean, hauling her up to her feet, even as Sam and Bobby went after the Trickster. "Sorry about that…Cut it a little close."

"No shit," Lily coughed, massaging her throat. "You couldn't just kill it?" Regardless of what Trickster had or hadn't figured out, her brothers had arrived just on time which was, coincidentally, the one thing no one ever counted on, and Lily always did.

"He was holding you too close," Dean explained, handing her a stake. "Couldn't risk—"

"Watch it!" Lily cut him off, throwing her weight at him as one of the Trickster's doubles lashed out from behind.

The two tumbled to the ground, Dean rolling to his feet to cleanly drive his stake through the thing's heart. It vanished; he swore.

"Which one is the real thing?" he grumbled angrily.

"If we knew that," Bobby called over his only mini-battle, "this woulda been over by now."

Lily herself had been about to answer in much the same vein, but she was facing yet another of the Trickster's doubles. This one was speaking to her.

"Cute trick you had set up," it said, gaining on Lily, who still couldn't reach the stake she'd dropped. Sam, Dean and Bobby were either missing or wrestling with their own problems. "Staged that fight with your brother, running away to Amber—"

"Trust me," she grumbled under her breath. "It wasn't all staged."

"Even better," it laughed, reaching down to grab her again. As its hand closed around the fabric of her shirt, she swung out and rolled away. She didn't get far, but she managed to tear her shirt halfway up one side.

"Smooth," it laughed, kneeling over her. "Now—what's that?"

Lily froze, genuinely confused at the Trickster's genuinely confused expression. Of all the things for it to say, she wasn't expecting that. She was caught off guard, something John had warned her against since she was ten years old, something which should have cost her her life.

"What?" she said without thinking, following his eyes to her bruised side, where Andy had bumped her over a week ago.

"When did—" He was cut off as a spike suddenly protruded from his chest. Lily flinched, only half expecting it.

His hand fell away, and his body followed shortly after. The doubles vanished; Sam, it seemed had managed to guess correctly.

"How'd you know?" Lily said, bending to pick up his now-bloody stake.

"He didn't seem like the kind of guy to take a joke," Sam answered drily. "I'd figure he'd want revenge for us outsmarting him, and where better to start than with you?"

Lily grimaced. "That's a nice thought."

"Hey, kids, I'd love to stay and continue the chat, but we'd better duck out before the campus police decide bloody stakes are not learner-friendly." Dean was already leading the way back to the car, where Bobby sat, ready in the driver's seat. They piled in, and Lily watched her school disappear into the rearview mirror behind them. For something that had been such a big part of her life, it faded almost impossibly quickly into the mist.

"So, how'd you distract him, Lil?" Sam asked suddenly as the car started back toward their motel.

She jumped, then shrugged. "What? Oh. I mean, I dunno, didn't really think about it. I guess he caught sight of the bruise from Andy, and—"

"The bruise?"

"Yeah, from when Andy bumped into me—or rather, I bumped into him—back in Bear Creek. It's no big deal, or anything. I mean, it's just a bruise." She made a face. "'Course, now that I played rag doll for that freak joker, I'm kinda sore, but…"

"Remind me to take a look when we get back to the motel," Sam said.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Sam, come _on_, it's a bruise! You don't need to doctor me, I—"

"Well, yeah, your 'bruise' caught the attention of a _demi-god_, so your _brother_ is gonna check it out."

"Sam—"

"Lily—"

"Well, you two don't waste a second, do you?" Dean said, tearing himself from his conversation with Bobby, which had been either about cars, beers, or demi-gods. Or any combination of the three. "But, hey, in case we weren't already tired of ripping each other a couple new ones, who's winning?" He nudged Bobby. "I got twenty bucks on Lily."

"Lily's hurt," Sam said, and the smug look he gave her let Lily know he was exacting revenge for her betrayal back in Bear Creek after his panic attack. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing all hope was lost.

Sure enough, Dean's smile evaporated as he turned accusing eyes on Lily.

"What? Lily, you're hurt?" And now Bobby was looking back, too, anxious brown eyes peering through the rear view mirror. Lily ground her teeth together.

"I'm _fine_," she spat in a voice to peel the paint from walls.

"She's still hurting from Andy in Bear Creek."

"Still? Lily, it's been almost two weeks."

"So, my healing time is less than stellar. Quick, alert the authorities!" Lily grumbled sarcastically. They'd made it back to the motel, only a few blocks from where the battle had been, and Bobby, wise enough to stay out of the growing argument, left (with whispered instructions that they should call if Lily really _was_ hurt). She might have gotten away with it, too, if not for her own frustration as she slammed Bobby's door…which, in turn, sent a spike of pain through her torso.

She hadn't been lying about being sore after being tossed around by the Trickster, so try as she might to hide it, both of her brother's read straight through the grimaced that flashed across her face.

"Get inside, Lily." Dean's tone left no room for argument. Sam had already grabbed the first aid kit. Clenching her jaw so hard it hurt, Lily obliged, storming inside their motel room with all the petulance of a defeated three year old.

_Oh, Dinah. It was all a dream._


	27. Vincent Beauregard

**So. In light of recent reviews, I've decided to intro this chapter by clarifying last chapter's conclusion: In keeping with the brief '_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_' theme (based on the novel of the same title by Lewis Carroll, whom I'm sure you're all familiar with on one level or another), I referenced the conclusion to *that* novel, i.e., the end of the book when Alice returns to...normalness, where she had been with her cat, Dinah, and remarks that it was a dream. Now, don't quote me on those events directly-that's a paraphrase of what happened, but the point is everything that happened last chapter...happened. I mean, you can assume it was a dream, if you like, and it shouldn't put you too far off, but know that's not what I had intended.**

**To avoid future confusion, I will not be so vague. My bad. =p And thanks to those of you who let me know I was being crazy! I do that sometimes. Bad habit.**

**Thanks again for reading, errbody. I appreciate all comments/questions/concerns. Also, you. I appreciate all you.**

**Hearts,**

**CA**

* * *

It had gotten worse. Somehow, despite the fact that they had put the Trickster away just a few hours ago, it had gotten _worse_.

"Geez, Lil," breathed Sam. "You should have said something…"

"What. The hell," Lily muttered, equally as surprised by the salad-plate sized mass of purple-blue and black obscuring her right side. "I swear, it didn't look like that the other day."

"It's been like this for _days_?" Dean's expression, as well as his tone, fostered in Lily guilt–instead of the annoyance she'd been hoping for.

"No!" Lily said, squirming to get a better look at her side, while simultaneously trying to appease her oldest brother by keeping her back flat against the motel mattress. "I mean…well, yeah, but I didn't think anything of it. It's a bruise, Dean. Fifty bucks says you and Sam down have three times as many this size between you."

"Fifty bucks is dinner for the next month, Lil," grumbled Dean. "And _this_ isn't normal bruising. This is that-time-Sam-fell-off-his-bike-and-broke-a-rib bruising."

"I think I'd know if I broke a rib."

"You knowing and you _saying_ anything is not the same thing." It was true enough. When it came to being stubborn about pain, Lily could play with the big boys…namely her brothers and their late father. Though her reasoning, of course, was a little different. Like Sam and Dean, she didn't want her siblings to worry, and like Sam and Dean she hated being fretted over. But unlike Sam and Dean her instinctive need to hide her injuries sprang less from, 'I've got a hunt, gotta keep pushing,' and more from, 'I have no right to complain about pain with what they go through every day,' and, 'I have no _time_ to complain about pain now that they're back.'

But regardless of the reason, the instinct was there, and if anything, Lily hated being the one flat on her back more than both her brothers combined, who at least had a good thirty or so years of practice between them.

Still. Didn't mean she couldn't try.

"Why would I _say _anything about a bruise? Seriously, guys, lay off, I'm f—Ow! Sammy, what the hell?"

"Yeah, fine," snorted Dean, even as Sam looked mildly surprised (if not victorious) by the reaction he'd elicited.

"I didn't do anything."

"You just _stabbed_ me!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Now who's being melodramatic?" He held the offending digit up for general examination. "And for the record, that was my _finger_, and not a knife."

Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Alright, kiddies, pile in the car! Time for a trip to the hospital."

This, Lily would not abide. She didn't know if Dean was thinking it, but she certainly was and by Sam's face, so was he: the last time they'd been at a hospital, they'd buried Dad right after. The time before that, he'd died. There was no way Lily was taking her brothers to a hospital to have them prod a few broken blood vessels on her ribs. She had a job to do.

"Alright, fine," she said, making sure to infuse her voice with every ounce of defeat she actually felt. "If I let Sammy tape me up, can we just go?"

"And if it gets worse?" Dean said, pushing for his end of the deal. Maybe he did see what the hospital would mean.

Lily sighed. _'I'll kill you in your sleep?'_ "We'll stop the next town we come to."

Dean grinned. "You've got yourself a deal," he said, putting on what Lily guessed was supposed to be an auctioneer type Southern twang.

"And _you've_ got to work on your impressions," she muttered under her breath.

**xxxxx**

"Lil, the macho thing you're doing is cute, but unnecessary."

Lily didn't even crack a smile as she lay there on the bed, stiff, hands fisted, eyes closed. Only a few minutes had passed, but between the Dean-mandated prefatory check that she really was 'fine', and the catching up of the last few days, the youngest Winchester was beginning to regret her decision to cede to the mini examination.

"Shut up," she said tersely. "I'm fi—" The last word was cut off as she swallowed back a whimper.

Dean rolled his eyes, and made a big show of having been right the whole time. But Sam, who glanced up from where he knelt at Lily's side, could read the concern in every line on Dean's face.

"Can't we give her something?"

"All we have is Vicodin," Sam said bluntly, with the air of someone who already knew where the forthcoming conversation was headed.

He did. Dean swore. "C'mon, dude, you're kidding." It was probably left over from the hospital trip, more than likely 'stolen' on a hunch. "Seriously. We need to invest in some generic ibuprofen."

Sam shrugged. "We'll pick some up on the way out of town. Right now, we might be able to skip it." He tilted his head, not that it made a difference, because Lily still had her eyes closed.

"Lily? You alright?"

"Yup." The single syllable was clipped at both ends.

Dean sighed. "Give it to her."

"C'mon, Dean." Now Lily was protesting, able to speak almost normally while Sam was distracted, though she looked pale. "It's fine. He'll be done in two seconds, then I'll go to sleep."

"Not if you can't even roll over."

"If we're in the car, I won't be _able_ to roll over anyway." Her eyes were open now, and she was frustrated.

"If we're in the car for as long as we should be," Dean replied, his tone saying he was ready to argue all night, because this was his sister, and hell if he was going to sit around while she suffered, "you won't be _able_ to move if you don't take something."

"So, we'll cross that bridge when it comes."

"When it comes, it'll be too late!"

"You're acting like I'm gonna die of a bruise!"

"When you bruise that way because some punk touched you, you might."

"I wouldn't have even—"

"Don't go back to—"

"Stop interrupting me and let me—"

"This has nothing to do with—"

"_Don't make me take it._"

The reply Lily had given was not the climax of the shouting match Sam had expected. Quite the opposite, the words were barely above a whisper, and yet somehow they echoed louder than any scream could have. And while they were not directed at him, Sam felt them like a punch to the gut. Lily _hated_ Vicodin, and they all knew it.

"Take one," Dean compromised finally, and his voice was smaller, too. Sam guessed it had to be, to make room in his throat for the guilt and bile. "Take one, sleep it off, and we'll get something else after that if you still need it."

Lily had always been that way about taking medication. Hell, all the Winchesters had. Medicine made you fuzzy, weak, vulnerable, and a liability on the job. Even if the hunt was over, none of them liked feeling like they weren't in control, Lily in particular. But it was be a little fuzzy—well, okay, _more_ than a little—for a few hours—well, okay, _more_ than a few—or be in pain for several. Dean preferred the doped up Lily to the pained Lily, and knew it was probably selfish, but couldn't find it in himself to change his mind.

"Just take it, Lily. Think of it as a favor." Lily opened her eyes again to look at him, because he spoke with just as much of a plea as she had.

And she was just as powerless.

"Fine," she sighed eventually. "But if there is not a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream waiting for me when I wake up, so help me God…"

Dean laughed, and Sam followed, because the tension had evaporated, and Lily had always been good at that sort of thing.

"With or without the cherry, Your Highness?"

"How 'bout you take that cherry and stick it up your—Ow! Sammy!"

"Oops. My bad."

Lily rolled her eyes. "_Two_ bowls of ice cream now. And a pony."

**xxxxx**

Ten minutes later, and Lily was already feeling the effects of the half-dosage of Vicodin she's taken. Sam was still working at her side, taking the opportunity to make sure, no, nothing was broken. Dean, who still remembered quite clearly the first time Lily had been given the drug, sat by her head.

"Hey, Lil," he said gently, brushing her hair from her face. She said nothing, but squirmed until her face was buried in his side.

"I know," he said, hiding a wince. "I know. But you gotta relax, alright? Staying all tense like that is only gonna hurt you more."

He stroked her hair, willing her to go to sleep as Sam ran a gentle hand over her side.

The bruising, while significant, appeared local, and the swelling wasn't as bad as if should have been, all things considered. But there was one point that was hot to the touch at the center of the bruise that made him think she _had_ been injured and just hadn't let on.

"Has she always had a…birthmark here?" he asked suddenly.

Dean started, so absorbed in his own task, he'd forgotten Sam was there. "What?"

"This…uh…birthmark. On her side. Has it always been there?"

"What birthmark? I mean, I dunno, why're you asking me? Ask her."

"Oh, you mean 'if you were an animal, you'd be a window' Winchester? Yeah, that's helpful."

"It's fine, man, just some bruising. Right?"

Sam nodded, tearing his eyes from the odd center point of the blue-black mass. "And maybe a little torn cartilage. She'll be fine. Anyway, I'm gonna wrap 'em. Just don't let her move."

He laid a cautious hand flat against her side, watching her whole body go rigid in pain.

Dean knelt next to her, using his free hand to push her hair from her eyes. "Hey. Hey, look at me. C'mon, Lily, open your eyes. Look at me."

She opened them cautiously, as if she were afraid to get yelled at, and Dean swallowed the urge to swear, because he knew she probably was. But she focused quickly, desperately seeking words of assurance, even if she wouldn't say it.

When Sam went to smear the first of the antibacterial gel on her abdomen, though, she'd shifted.

"Hey," Dean said again. "Lily, look at me. We both know I'm your favorite brother, anyway, right?" He heard Sam snort, and chose to ignore him.

"Remember when we were little, Lily, how we used to play tricks on Sam?"

"When you let me help?" she said, words only slightly slurred.

Dean smirked. "Yeah, Lil. You remember the time Dad took us to that fair or whatever?"

A small frown creased her brow. Whether she was thinking, or in pain, Dean couldn't tell, and was about to suggest a new story, when she interrupted weakly. "Sammy…Sammy was eight," she said breathlessly. "And you were…you were twelve."

"And you were four," Dean added.

"And Sam…Sam really wanted that stuffed dinosaur?"

"That's the one," Dean grinned. "Vincent." He looked down the bed at his brother, who was blushing. He shot Dean a look.

_'Seriously?'_ it read.

Dean shrugged. _'Hey, she's distracted.'_

"Vincent Beauregard," said Lily. Her eyes were closed, but a faint smile touched her lips, erasing the frown creasing her brow. The tension was beginning to leave her body as she said, "Sammy made you choose a funny name for it." Sam and Dean snickered. Dean had decided to be an ass when eight-year-old Sam had asked for a name, throwing out a stupid pansy name he knew Sam—and Lily—wouldn't be able to remember. But to no one's surprise but his own, adoring Sam had clung to the name, and Lily clearly hadn't forgotten fifteen years later, drugged and half asleep.

"We didn't have enough tickets," she continued, for once oblivious to her brothers' goings-on. "And…and you and me, Dean…"

"We came up with a plan to help Sammy," Dean said. He was still staring at Sam, but his voice was serious now.

"Because Dad said—" Lily broke off with a whimper. Sam, distracted himself, had accidentally brushed a hand against her sore side. Dean shot Sam another look, neither angry nor accusing, but patiently concerned. Lily, for her part, tensed as her breathing began to pick up.

"C'mon, Lil, you gotta stay with me," Dean quickly comforted, taking his eyes from Sam for the briefest of moments. "What'd Dad say, Lily? What did he say?"

"He…he said that we had to help each other," Lily replied, voice strained. "Always. No matter what."

"That's right. So we tricked Sammy into saving our place in line for that roller coaster—"

"I was too little to ride," Lily said, though she was too far-gone for any real bitterness to infuse her voice.

"And you gave your token to Sammy so he could ride. But while he was waiting in line…"

"I told the guy who ran the game…I told him I was lost…"

"And you were always a cute kid, Lil. A cute kid who could cry on command," Dean added with a laugh. "So the dude behind the stands, he got all distracted looking for Dad and me…"

"And you stole the toy…"

"And gave it to you, because you were lost, and no one was gonna take a toy—even a stolen toy—from a crying kid."

"Sammy let me hold it when you went on the ride…"

"And you came and gave it to me after," Sam said, sounding a little breathless him. "That was…I'd forgotten about that."

Sam was finished, and Lily was all but out, the medicine dulling her pain and her senses. Her grip on Dean's hand was limp, so he eased away and picked her up as Sam packed away his things.

"Daddy…he kept Vinny for a long time," she mumbled, the words barely discernible. "He said it…it was...he said it was a..."

"He said it was a symbol," Sam said, looking at Dean almost hopefully. Expectantly. Waiting, Dean recognized, for assurance only he could give.

Dean obliged. "That we could all do anything if we worked together," he finished firmly. "That we _had_ to work together if we wanted to do anything, anyway. And that's how it would always be."

Sam turned away from Dean as he grabbed his bag, as well as Dean's and Lily's. The Impala was functioning now that the Trickster was out of commission, and it was high time they be on the road.

The trio had reached the car by the time Dean had gotten his little brother's attention.

"Hey."

Sam didn't turn around as he packed the things in the car, settling his hoodie under Lily's head as she stretched in the backseat.

"Sam."

"What?"

"We're gonna help you. You know that, right?"

And Sam smirked over the roof of the Impala. "Yeah, Dean. I know."

In the back seat, Lily was dreaming of Ferris wheels and funnel cakes.

_Curiouser and curiouser. _

_

* * *

_**The last line was another_ 'Alice' _reference. Just FYI. **_  
_


	28. Ice Cream and a Pony

**Seeing as how this was due in WEEKS ago, I made it extra long. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon, though I'm gonna meander off the beaten path a bit...I just need a storyline first. Bear with me-I'm going through a midstory crisis. =p Thanks for all your support/reading/reviewing! Much appreciated.**

**Massive hearts (but not the kind that kill you)**

**CA**

**PS-I own some stuff. The boys are not among said stuff.**

**PPS-I'm behind on responding to reviews. My b, I'll get on that ASAP. And special thanks to angeleyenc, who is forever putting up with my slowness and reading/reviewing. Thank you SO MUCH for your awesomeness. I bow to you. =D  
**

**

* * *

**Three decades.

Six cylinders.

100 mph, and 390 horsepower, and still not _enough_.

The boys were waiting outside Sammy's middle school when he pulled up. Well, when he screeched to a halt, anyway, leaving inches of burned black rubber on the road. Dean's face was rigidly impassive, but Sam, who clung to his bookbag with all the white-knuckled fervor of a man lost at sea holding to a life preserver, had to clench his jaw tight to keep from sobbing. John Winchester could see it even from here, the red splotches on his cheeks, the streaks running solidly down his face: his boy had been crying, despite the valid effort he made to stop now that his father was in view.

As John reached over to swing the passenger's side door on his '67 Impala wide open—once again cursing the damned thing's slowness—he felt a twinge a familiar twinge of guilt as Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder before ushering him into the car. Lily, too, had stopped crying when her father's voice came over the line. Her answers had been terse, bitten off, screaming over the pain she was in, even if the managed to keep the real screams at bay.

Her teacher had called from the school over an hour ago, while he'd still been far outside the city, just returning from Bobby's. Sixteen-year-old Dean was too young to retrieve his sister from the hospital, and Pastor Jim (listed, he realized, as his daughter's emergency contact; he would have been first to know she was hurt, first to sign off on the necessary medical procedures, promising he'd be there, though it was John on the way) was further away than John had been. They'd called, and he'd answered without thinking, though the news that his daughter was being sent to the ER had been enough to drive him to the side of the road.

"Is…is she—" he'd choked out.

"The ambulance is on the way right now, Mr. Duffy," came a trying-to-be-calm voice from the other end. It was hardly enough to drown out the sobs—sobs John recognized as Lily's—in the background. "She simply suffered a bad fall; she'll be fine."

John winced as a pained scream penetrated the resultant silence. "Can I talk to her?"

"She's…not being terribly cooperative, Mr. Duffy," said the woman. "She's scared, and—"

"And you don't think talking to her father will help?" The words came out harsher than he'd intended, but he didn't waste time apologizing. The next voice he heard was soaked in tears.

"D-Daddy?"

"Lily, baby, it's me. It's Daddy. What happened?"

He heard her start to answer, cough out a sob, then take a deep breath. He swallowed the bile he felt rising in his throat. The old instinct he'd taught her, taught all of them—to negate, destroy, ignore weakness—wouldn't let her cry, even if she was heading for the ER.

"I f—I fell," she hiccupped valiantly. "I was t-trying to s-show one of the other boys in my c-class what Dean taught m-me yesterday, b-but I messed up and I f-fell." Her voice cracked on the last words, and she sniffed wetly. "Daddy?"

John was struggling not to cry himself, torn between paralysis and the paralyzing desire to drive and see her _now_.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Daddy, I…I can see my bone," said the eight-year-old in an unmistakably haunted whisper. John closed his eyes, suddenly weary, as she went on, "I could see it, and I got sick and threw up," she added, the shame clear in her voice. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. Listen, Lily, I need you to do something for me."

A sniffle greeted him, and he was surprised—and more than a little disgusted—at how quickly the military intonation crept into his voice.

"Lily. Listen to me. That's an order."

"Yessir."

John winced at how he could practically hear her jump to attention, and his voice softened. "Baby, I need you to be strong for me, alright? I'm on my way back now, but it's gonna take a little while, okay?"

"…okay."

John Winchester couldn't read his daughter like his boys could, but even he heard the unspoken request—no, plea—in her voice.

"I'll bring them with me, baby. I gotta pick them up." He'd call the schools when he got closer. Sam would only work himself into a panic, and Dean…well, he wasn't yet old enough to check himself or his brother out of school. Meaning he'd fight through any barrier the erected trying to keep him away from his sister.

"We'll be there real soon, baby. Hold on, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

He heard male voices, soothing and detached in the background: the paramedics had arrived.

John Winchester hung up the phone, swallowed the bitter tang of jealous rising in his throat, and pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go.

**xxxxx**

Now, John and the boys burst into the emergency room at Hope Children's Hospital with all the fervor of someone being chased by a wildfire. The receptionist behind the desk seemed to be expecting them.

"Mr. Duffy?"

He nodded brusquely. "Where's my girl?"

The woman smiled serenely, and the look of understanding in her eyes was almost sincere.

"Your daughter will be just fine, sir. She's just coming out of surgery—"

"Surgery…" John repeated. He'd meant to sound incredulous, but he couldn't seem to find the air to express his shock. How could he have let her go through…she would have been terrified, being put under…

"…Duffy? Sir? Hello?"

"Dad."

It was Dean's voice that brought him back, and he was surprised to find his son nearly supporting him. When had his boy gotten so tall?

"Perhaps you should sit down, sir."

"He's alright," Dean answered before John could remember how to make his mouth work. "When can we see her?"

"In just a moment, if you'll follow me," came a male voice from behind.

All three Winchester men turned to see a youngish looking doctor, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and eyes. He smiled the same not-quite-there smile the receptionist had and beckoned.

John didn't have a chance to ask whether to boys were allowed. Sammy followed the other man without a word, and Dean, with a quick look John recognized meant, 'You alright?' nudged John along afterward.

The doctor was speaking as he walked, his steps impossibly, painfully slow.

"I'm Doctor Richard Low, but you can call me Rick. I trust you're Lily's family?"

"Yes, sir." This time it was Sam who answered, and John felt a twinge of pride through his numbness. Sam had taken on Dean's hard tone that meant something was wrong, but he wouldn't show it. Even so, he was taking charge, taking over for John, and while it was wrong, it was touching.

Rick turned and glanced back at Sam, a real smile touching his lips.

"Are you Sam?"

"Yes, sir," he answered again.

"She mentioned you."

It was enough to break through Sam's façade of professionalism. "She did? Is she okay?"

His eager response startled the doctor to laughter. "She'll be fine," he answered. Then to all of them he said, "Lily sustained a compound fracture of the radius and a dislocation of her right thumb."

John had time to numbly think, _At least it's not her gun hand,_ before the doctor continued:

"Her injuries are likely the cause of a fall from some height, which resonates with the story given by the paramedics who brought her over. This is not unusual for children of her age, particularly those as apparently…adventurous as Lily seems to be," he added with a smile, and this time John smiled back, if stiffly.

"She gets that from these two," he said, testing his ability to speak. All things in tact, he felt Dean move away—slightly. "What—"

"The surgery was minimally invasive, and successful. We did have to secure the bone—the radial bone, you understand, its—"

"It's the one in her forearm connected to her thumb," Sam said impatiently. Now that his father was back, he'd returned to his attitude. John would have called him on it any other day, but now he was caught on the doctor's words. How was Lily's room so far?

"Yes, that's right," continued Rick, seeming unphased. "In any case, she should heal perfectly well, with a slight possibility of minor physical therapy in the near future. We've also relocated her thumb and secured it with the cast—which," he added, winking at Sam, "is ready for signing as soon as she wakes up."

"When will that be?" John pressed.

"She's only just come out of the surgery, and she's on quite a few medications for pain—namely Vicodin." Rick paused, turned to John, looking him full in the eye for the first time since the two men had met. "Sir, are you aware Lily is under the average curve in weight and height for a child her age?"

John, Sam and Dean froze. They'd all heard the beginnings of this conversation before, and it never boded well. And Lily hadn't even started hunting yet.

John's eyes narrowed. "She's eight. Give her time to grow."

"Of course, of course," amended Rick, friendly tone returning almost immediately. "Just noticed—"

"Where's her room?"

"Right here," said the man, motioning to the nearest door, painted an unremarkable blue. "I'll leave you with her for the moment while I go pull some charts for her prescriptions…"

"Wait."

Rick stopped. Turned. Sam, the youngest, had already pushed open his patient's door, and even from here he could read the horror and tension in their faces, and see the reason why.

Lily's bed was empty.

**xxxxx**

"Where is she?" Rick found himself cornered quite suddenly by three men, the youngest of which who, though hardly a man, stood nearly as tall as Rick himself.

"I—" he stammered. It wasn't so much that he was intimated—though he was—but that he didn't know where his young patient was, and he quite disliked not having answer, angry family members aside. "A nurse may have moved her to a different recovery room, I'll check on that right away," he said.

"You got two minutes," growled one of the men, and Rick was so intent on 'escaping' he didn't bother checking to see which one it was.

John, for his part, turned to his boys, feeling more himself than he had since he'd gotten the call. He might lack in being a present father, but hunting was something he knew how to do.

"Sammy," he said bending (though only slightly) to meet his young son's panicked eyes. "Sammy, I need you to stay calm and stay here in case Lily comes back, okay?"

"Dad, you think—"

"I think she ran, yes. And if she really did just wake up, she's probably confused and scared, but she can't have gotten far."

Sam nodded. It made sense. Lily had their hunter's instinct, even if she didn't know what it was yet. Waking up in a strange place, she'd have done what she'd been trained to do since early childhood: look for her brothers.

John ruffled Sam's hair affectionately, then stood to face Dean. "Dean, I'm gonna go stay on that doctor's ass. He's got ninety seconds to turn up your sister, but I don't trust him one lick, so I want you—"

"I'll find her, Dad," Dean promised. He squeezed Sam's shoulder once more as the younger ducked into Lily's room, then disappeared down the hall.

John looked after his boys for a moment, then smiled. He may not be the best father, but he'd raised some damn fine children.

**xxxxx**

John had been right; Lily hadn't gotten far, and it didn't take Dean long to find her. He'd been listening for the telltale gasps of panic, but it was the small, quiet sniffles that alerted him to the supply closet only a few hundred yards down from Lily's room. The door was slightly ajar; he could hear her breathing. Her hunter instincts had kicked in, sure enough, but her post-op stupor had dulled them. Dad would have yelled, he thought.

He pulled the door open slowly, only mildly surprised to find her there, his little sister, nestled in among the jugs of Pinesol and dirty mops. Her face was buried in her knees, her legs pulled up to her tiny chest. Both arms were wrapped around the crown of her head, one wrapped in bright green plaster, the other bandaged and taped at the back of her hand and the crease of her elbow, where she'd apparently ripped out her IVs.

Dean wrinkled his nose as he opened the door wider and the acidic smell of vomit rose to greet him. Lily flinched as light fell over her toes. He smiled sadly.

"Hey, Lily," he said gently, crouching. "You know, you're supposed to tell people before you play hide and seek. Otherwise, no one knows to look for you."

Lily looked up slowly, dazedly. The poor thing looked like she had no idea where she was, but she found Dean's eyes quickly. Her pupils were dilated to the point where her irises were little more than a thin sliver of green.

"Dean?" Even the single syllable was slurred.

"Yeah, Lil," he reached out a finger to brush her dark bangs from her face. "How you feeling? Dad told me you had a rough day."

She hiccupped, suddenly on the verge of tears. She hugged her knees tighter. "Dean, I can't wake up."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean, you can't wake up? You're awake right now."

"No, I'm not!" she said. Her mouth was working faster than her tongue and the words were difficult to distinguish. Even so, Dean could tell if she weren't so heavily drugged, she'd be frustrated, probably nearly hysterical. "I'm not. I can't. Dean, I can't."

Later, Dean would hate himself for not figuring out what she meant sooner. But she was sick, and he was nervous, and not thinking straight.

"Lily…?"

"I keep trying, Dean," she said, fisting her tiny hands lazily. Her eyes, though unfocused, held a keen rage, frustration at the inability to speak correctly. It would have been cute if it weren't so heartbreaking. "I keep trying, but I can't, and I can't remember stuff, and I don't know how I got here or how to get out, and I can't think of those words Dad taught us, and I _know_ those words, Dean!" She burst into tears, tried to stand, and would have fallen if he didn't press her body against his, still knelt on the floor in the small closet.

Understanding struck like a lightning bolt. His little sister, to put it bluntly, was…stoned out of her mind, and the cottony haze in her brain was frightening her. She couldn't even recall, he realized after a moment, the words drilled into her head since she was five: standard Latin exorcism, though of course she didn't know what they meant.

Dean sighed, half in relief that he'd found her, and she was essentially alright, half in patient understanding.

"Your head feels kinda funny, eh, Lil? Fuzzy, like there's a bunch paper towels in there?"

She nodded emphatically, went green, then vomited all over herself. Again. Apparently, the Vicodin didn't agree with her stomach, either.

Before she could start to cry again, he spoke.

"Hey, hey," he said gently. "It's okay. Your tummy feel better at least?"

He felt her shrug and decided to get her back to bed before she was sick again.

"I can't wake up," she sobbed quietly to no one in particular as he walked her down the hall. "I wanna wake up and go home. Dean…help."

"It's okay," he said again. Another lie. "Lily, listen to me, okay?" He reached her room, put her in the bed, mouthed a 'Later,' to a confused but relieved looking Sam. He'd call the others in a second; they needed a nurse to change her clothes, anyway. "Lily, you are awake, okay? I promise. I know your head feels kinda fuzzy and everything is moving funny, but you are. It's…" he hesitated, then barreled ahead. "You know how when you're sick, Daddy…or me, we give you medicine? And sometimes it'll make you feel sleepy. This is like that, okay, but instead of just a little sleepy, you're a lot sleepy."

Lily blinked at him, uncomprehending. "But I don't wanna sleep…"

"I know, Lily. It'll go away soon."

She shook her head. "No, it's been like this for a long time. I keep trying to wake up, but then I just throw up, and—"

If there was one person who could work themselves into a panic while stoned, it was Lily. Dean would have laughed if only he could remember how. That was the ethic John Winchester installed in his children: always alert, always in control. And when they couldn't be…

Suddenly, Dean understood how to help his sister. "Okay, Lil, here's what I want you to do. I'm gonna go get someone to clean you up a little, then you're gonna come back for a nap."

"But—"

"And when you wake up, you'll be awake."

"But, Dean—"

"Dad's gonna come sit with you while you sleep."

Her dilated pupils went wide. "Dean, no, he'll be mad I can't wake up!"

Dean smiled. "No, Lil. He wants you to take a nap."

Lily seemed both hopeful and doubtful at once. "…really?"

"Really."

It was then Rick entered, John on his tail.

Both looked immensely relieved, and the former turned to a nurse in the hall, muttering something about 'his patient' having be 'located'.

"Hey, Lily," Rick said, that fake smiled pasted back across his face. "You made a run for it, eh?"

It took Lily a full minute to register the doctor's presence, but when she did, her face crumpled into a mask of disappointment and fear. Her breathing accelerated almost immediately, though it turned more into wheezing, between the sedation and the panic.

"Dean…Dean!" She had no sooner started calling for her brother's name (she apparently hadn't noticed John or Sam yet) then he scooped her up, mess and all. She buried her face in his neck. "He's gonna…he's gonna make me go to sleep. I can't…I don't want to, please…"

"He's not," Dean promised, rubbing soothing circles on her back. Her cast was rough and heavy on his neck; he glared at the doctor from over her shoulder. "He's done. All you have to do is go to sleep, like we said, okay?"

John looked at his kids, then to the doctor. "Thank you for your help, Doc," he said as calmly as he could. "We'll pick up the meds on the way home…I trust there are other viable options?"

Rick nodded; he'd discussed the Vicodin with John, and they'd both agreed it'd be best saved for another time. "Of course. I'll see you back in a few weeks for her check-up?"

John nodded, though he said nothing. It was unlikely they'd still be around, even next week, as long as Lily was okay to move.

Rick sent a parting nod his way, then ducked out of the room.

**xxxxx**

Twenty minutes later, Lily was in a borrowed nightgown two sizes too large for her, her hair damp from the bath her nurse had given her. She immerged from the other room a warm, clean-smelling bundle of cotton, like John remembered from when she'd been much, much smaller.

If she was still frightened by her own delusion, she was too hazy to express it. Then she was placed in his arms.

"Daddy," she said miserably, either too out of it to realize she was crying, or too out of it to care. "I can't wake up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Hey, hey, hey," John said gently, sitting on the edge of her bed with her in his arms. "I don't want you to wake up. I want you to go to sleep."

"But I can't wake up," Lily repeated, as if he'd missed the most important part of her confession.

"Yes, you can. After you take your nap, you'll be able to wake up."

"I can?"

"Promise."

"But—"

"Don't worry about anything else, baby," he said, thumbing the hair from her eyes and the tears from her cheeks.

The look of absolute trust on her face as she finally started to nod off was heartbreaking.

When she woke halfway through the next day, she had almost no memory of what had happened after she fell. She only knew what the other Winchesters had already figured out: Lily and Vicodin did not mix.


	29. Lap Six

**After many a week waiting, here it is! Funny thing is I've had this chapter more or less done for a while. I just didn't want to post until I knew how to move on, and I think I do now! It may take a little while, but things are finally winding down-hence the post frenzy! Hope you enjoy this, and thanks for your patience!**

**No one is mine 'cept Lily.**

**Hearts,**

**CA**

**EDIT: I was alerted by a kind and anonymous source that I was mistakenly mistaken! The Winchesters are from Kansas, not Kentucky. Apologies! Those K-states always throw me. *headdesk***

**

* * *

**Lily had always enjoyed swimming.

Something about the weightlessness, the feel of her body slicing through the water, her hands plowing over the surface, her feet creating deep troughs of the clear liquid behind her.

She'd learned with the rest of them, when she was just four years old. Every weekend that summer, and a handful of weekdays, too, Dad would take them out back to the motel pool, or else a local lake or river or something, and say, 'Here, Lily Pad, kick your feet just like this.' Or, 'Hold on here, Sammy,' or 'Head _all the way _under the water, Dean.'

Lily had taken to it quickly, just like her brothers, though whether it was talent, or sheer recognition that there was no other option, she didn't know. They'd all learned brilliantly, but only Lily had stuck with it, while Dean dove into hunting, and Sammy opted for soccer. When she was younger, before she even knew about the hunt, she'd beg Sam (or Bobby or Pastor Jim) to take her to the pool, the lake, the pond, the river and let her swim, always 'just for a few minutes'. When she got older, and Sam kicked soccer to hunt with Dad and Dean, she'd sneak out by herself, because she was just starting to rebel, then, and because she couldn't stand sitting and waiting for the news of her family's death.

By the time she started middle school, she was a shoe-in for any team she came up against. She wasn't the best, but she was good. Her diminutive stature meant she soared through the water that much faster, and sheer determination ensured improvement on a nearly-constant upward scale. Hours of practice shooting, loading and reloading her father's rifles, reassembling handguns under time constraints gave even her arms and hands a sleek edge, and she loved that when she was swimming, all there was to think about was the pattern: stroke, turn breathe, stroke, turn, breathe. No Daddy. No Mommy. No nothing. Just stroke, turn, breathe.

She was on her sixth lap, swimming in little more but an old pair of bike shorts and a sports bra—she hadn't brought a swimming suit with her, hadn't even thought about swimming since the night she left Dean and her father; she'd taken up rowing shortly afterward and never looked back to consider what it meant that she'd preferred sailing over the water then, rather than through it—when Dean's voice startled her from her familiar pattern.

Stroke, turn, breathe. Stroke, turn, breathe. Stroke, turn—

"You still swim?"

—choke. Lily turned abruptly, blinking water out of her eyes. The pool was open access to anyone with a room key at the tiny motel, but it was just going on five am, and she hadn't expected anyone to join her, least of all her brother.

"I still know how, if that's what you mean," she answered after a moment, coughing to clear her throat of the mouthful of water she'd just swallowed. She kicked to the edge of the pool where Dean had pulled up a squeaky, sun-kissed plastic chair. "And good morning to you, too."

"It isn't," he said, yawning. "But whatever. How long have you been out here?"

Lily shrugged, wringing out her hair uselessly. "I dunno. Maybe half an hour?"

"What, you don't sleep anymore?"

"I was gonna say the same to you. _I've_ been sleeping since yesterday morning."

Dean smirked. "Only mostly. Man, you got some weird stories you need to share."

Lily glared. "I reserve the right to deny anything I say while stoned," she countered.

Dean shrugged, yawned again. "Yeah, well, I know how to make you give 'em up now."

Lily only rolled her eyes. "And what about you? When did you sleep?"

"We got here around midnight. I've been asleep."

"You know the average person requires 8-9 hours of sleep, right?"

"Since when were we considered average?"

Lily smirked. "Touché."

They sat in silence for a minute, each thinking their own private thoughts, before Dean said, "So, you in the habit of early morning swims?"

"I'm in the habit of early mornings," Lily said. "Five years of—"

"Rowing, yeah, I know. When'd you start that?"

"Um. Five years ago?"

"Yeah, yeah, smart ass. I mean, when you…started at the boarding school?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were into swimming."

"I was. Am."

"Not enough to have brought a real swimming suit, though," Dean said, raising a brow. "You're lucky I found you and not some thirty year old perv."

"Dean. You practically _are _a thirty-year-old perv."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm twenty-eight. Settle down. Anyway, it's freezing. You don't got a towel either?"

Lily shrugged. "Guess I forgot one. Didn't really plan on coming out here to do laps or anything. Just kind of…" she waved a hand dismissively, "…happened."

The truth was she hadn't done real laps—at least outside of the occasional swimming practice required back at school during rowing conditioning—since that first year of boarding school. The summer she'd left, as with the two previous summers, she'd taken a job as a lifeguard at the local community pool. But after it had sunk in that she'd really left—what she'd really left—swimming for some reason no longer seemed appealing.

Why she was swimming now, she couldn't say. She could blame it on the early morning restlessness she still carried with her, as well as the need to clear her head after the twenty-hour nap. She hated running, so swimming seemed the obvious option, unless there was a boathouse somewhere near by. But despite her excuses, Lily couldn't help but think the dream she'd had last night might have prompted the warm up as well…

"Yeah, well, maybe you should save these 'happenings' for…I dunno, the summer?" Dean continued, oblivious as he tilted his head back to study the tangerine sky, dyed with a yet-hidden sun. "At the beach? And not mid-September in an asbestos-filled pool in north Philly."

At this, Lily looked up sharply. "We're in Philly?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"

"Where's Sam?"

"Still sleeping. What, does Sam have a Pennsylvania allergy I'm not aware of?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Just wondering where we headed."

"Dunno yet. Anyway, we'll have to drive through Philly to get almost anywhere else from New Hampshire, anyway." He said all this as casually as he could, but Lily heard the catch in his voice almost immediately. Mistake.

"Where're we going?" Lily asked suspiciously.

No one but his siblings would have caught the half-second of hesitation before Dean said, "I just said I don't know, Lily. What-?"

"We both know you're lying, Dean. Let's save some time and you just tell me."

"Lily—"

"Dean, I am not above holding my breath 'til I get an answer. And I know you don't want to come in after me." Even sitting outside the pool, Lily could see the goose bumps the chill morning air had raised on his skin.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Lily, you are not a little kid anymore, you can't—"

"Watch me."

"I just mean—"

"Three…"

"Don't you dare…"

"Two…"

"I swear, Lil, I don't—"

"One. See you in a few minutes, Dean."

She'd only been underwater for about ten seconds when she heard an exasperated cry she felt certain wasn't appropriate for a public pool, followed by a word that, while very familiar, was almost certainly misheard.

Bluff, or not, it was enough that Lily bounded upward again.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," Dean replied wearily, not quite looking at her.

"Humor me."

Dean sighed, ran a hand through his hair and over his face. "Kansas. We're going to Kansas."

"You mean…_Lawrence_, Kansas? Like…"

"Yes, Lily. We're going home."


	30. Record

**I. Am a terrible person. The last several months have been absolutely ridiculous (a story long and melodramatic enough to make it's own fanfic), and I've been editing slowly, but I haven't had time to post. That said, I have about 90% of the second season covered, and I'm trying to give myself a goal of updating one a week, since my next four chapters are already done.**

**SO. Old fans, thank you SO MUCH FOR STICKING AROUND. I bow at your feet. You rock. Seriously. 3**

**New fans, hang around! I promise to update regularly, and I hope you enjoy. Just a note (to all readers), I'm working on editing older chapters as well. Nothing that requires rereading, really. Just trying to make them...um...better.**

**Guess what isn't mine! The Winchester family!**

**Mad love,**

**CA**

* * *

"Hurry _up_, Lil."

"Look…I…I dunno…if you just haven't figured this out yet…or what. But when your legs…are three-quarters the body length of the person you're 'racing'….it's not quite fair."

Sam laughed easily despite the four miles he and Lily had jogged through the park. It was early morning—very early, enough so Lily's socks felt damp with the dew from the grass, and the fog hadn't lifted enough to see more than ten feet ahead. It would be impossible to see anyone coming from the other direction, but then, it was too early for anyone to be out.

"Yeah, but you've got that Dachshund thing going for you," he said, slowing to keep pace with her. "You know, short legs, quicker stride."

Lily looked at him, incredulous. "I'm not sure which should be more shocking: the fact that you actually think that's supposed to be a benefit, or the fact that you just compared me to a dog."

Sam grinned. "How 'bout we just ignore both?"

"Yeah, until you find a little itching powder in your hairbrush," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, okay, _Dean_."

Suddenly, Sam veered into the grass, sprinting into the fog. "Falling behind again, Lil?" he taunted over his shoulder.

"You forgot to say, 'Tag!'" she shouted, but found herself sprinting after him, anyway. It was probably lucky she was behind, because about a half second after the fog swallowed him, she heard him shout something very inappropriate for a family park, even an empty one.

She stopped abruptly despite herself. "Sam? Are you alright?"

When he didn't answer, she followed after the echo of his cry, suddenly kicking herself for not bringing any iron, early or not. But when she found him, he was cradling an ankle, sitting next to a half-submerged sprinkler head. She exhaled, relieved.

"Thank God," she muttered, crouching next to him.

"I think you meant, 'Are you okay?'" said Sam through gritted teeth.

"I already asked that," she said, thinking. "You're not. Now I've gotta figure out how to get your Great Dane ass back to the motel."

Sam glared up at her. "You comparing me to a dog?"

"Why would I do a thing like that? Move. Lemme see."

He waved her away. "It's fine, Lil."

"I'm sure. Lemme see it anyway."

"Just give me a second."

"I'll give you a lot more than that if you don't quit acting like Dad. Move over." She leaned over to push his hands out of the way—and yelped as he wrapped a large, clammy hand around her wrist.

"Ow! Geez, Sam, alright! I'll leave it alone, just let me—"

She choked on her words as she dragged her eyes from her ensnared wrist to meet her brothers brown ones. Only they weren't brown. Not anymore. They were completely and totally black as pitch.

_No…_

She blinked, shook her head, rubbed her eyes with her free hand. But Sam's face didn't change.

_Please no…_

If she had been able to tear her eyes away, she might have glanced down to see whether her heart was truly beating its way out of her chest, the way it felt it was. But she couldn't. She couldn't look away. She never could. "W-where's my brother?"

Sam's face grinned coldly, and Lily felt her heart skitter to a stop. It occurred to her she ought to run, scream, try to free her wrist—but she couldn't move. All at once, she was nine years old again. Her brothers were nowhere in sight, and she was all alone with someone who had loved her.

"Well, he couldn't be with us this morning," the demon taunted. "Can I take a message?"

A sudden burst of rage and fear surged through Lily like lightning. Thinking quickly, she pushed herself up off the ground with her free hand to deliver a sneakered blow to the demon's chin—_sorry, Sam_—but it caught her foot, flipped her, and pinned her to the grass leaning over her before she could even reach for a gun she didn't have.

"Aw, c'mon, that's no way to greet an old friend, is it? And to think, all this trouble to get you alone."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "What trouble? Who are you?" Distracted, she began to wedge one hand into her waistband. She had, at least, a vial of holy water.

"You don't recognize me?" the thing cackled. "Shameful. I recognized you, and it's been a full ten years!"

"What? Who—" She froze suddenly. Her blood went cold, her body rigid. 'Sam' laughed.

"Ah, there it is. You do remember me! My meatsuit's a little different now, but it's still family, right Lily Pad? Anyway, I always thought Sammy and Daddy looked a hell of a lot alike, anyway. No pun intended, of course."

_What pun?_ she thought numbly. Out loud, she said, "It—it's you."

"It is. Gotten any further on that homework I gave you last time we talked?"

"Let me go," growled Lily. She was older now. She knew things. She was trained. She could fight back.

Except she couldn't. Even if the thing didn't have her pinned, even if she wasn't completely unprepared, even if not-Sam had already deliberately worn her down with unusually difficult training, she knew she would have been powerless. It was all she could do to keep breathing, keep thinking.

"What is this?" she said. She wanted to think she was stalling, but she wasn't. She was shutting down, saying the first words to come to her head. "Am I dreaming?"

"Well, yes and no…" Demon-Sammy laughed again. Whether it was lying or counting on the fact that she wouldn't remember anything it said, she couldn't say. Maybe it just planned to kill her.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the demon-Sammy part. That's only half-dream."

Stupor or not, Lily heard that. 'Sammy,' she thought. 'I have to protect Sammy. I have to get him back.'

It brought her back to the present, reminded her of the pain in her wrist, of the danger her brother was in.

"What does that mean?" she barked, struggling. "Give him back, you son of a bitch!"

Sam-Demon threw back his head and laughed cruelly. "You sound just like your brother," he said, eyes returning to their normal brown for an instant. Then, before she could move, the demon pressed a thumb to her forehead. She stiffened—screamed—disappeared inside a vision.

It only lasted for an instant, and she caught brief flashes: Dean on his cell with Ellen—'_haven't seen him in a week, Ellen…_'—then Sam in a motel, his shirt covered in blood. Dean and Sam watching a videotaped Sam slaughter a roomful of hunters, Sam looking almost sick with guilt. Only it wasn't Sam, Lily knew even before the vision reached its end. It was demon Sam. The same one she was staring at as the vision cleared to reveal the park again.

Lily blinked and reared up to hit Sam-Demon, but he only laughed. "What was that?" she hissed. "When was that? What are you showing me?" Somehow the vision looked—_felt_—too real to be just a vision. Like it had happened before…

"Too many questions, Lily Pad," Not-Sam laughed. "You need to be concerned with the now."

Lily growled as she tried to free herself. The pressure on her wrist was excruciating—it was her right, the one she'd broken as a child, and if she reinjured it…

"Why are you telling me this?" Her concern for Sam—her utter confusion at the dream-vision—had reawakened her desire to fight, and her fingers were inching closer to her vial of holy water by the second. She only had to stall another few moments…

"I'm not doing you any favors, Lily Pad."

Closer…the pain in her wrist made it hard to focus. "D-don't call me that," she spat.

"Just here to remind you of what I said the last time, Lily," it said. "And check up on you, of course. Not much taller, are you?"

"On whose orders?" Lily said, now half-listening. Dream or not, it could be important. Even though the thing was lying. Probably. "Who do you work for? What do you want from me?"

Not-Sam glanced at her attempts with some amusement and tightened it's grip on her wrist 'til she saw spots. "My, my, maybe you _have_ done a bit of growing up, little Lily! You sound like a hunter now! Just like Daddy! Did he ever get over the guilt of what he did to you?"

"He didn't do anything!" The words were nearly sobbed, but her fingers were at the vial. If she could only just—

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is I warned you ten years ago, and I'm warning you again. Sammy's gonna die, Lily. And it's gonna be your fault."

Lily froze. Then it leaned over and its eyes went black, and Lily fell upward into the darkness.

* * *

She woke without a sound. Outside, trees flashed by, green blurs warped by the raindrops sliding down the Impala's rear window. Inside, her heart was pounding so hard, it hurt. Inside, she was screaming.

"Dean." She spoke through carefully clenched teeth.

"What?" Dean half-shouted, refusing to turn down the music. Metallica or Led Zepplin or something.

"Stop the car," she said without raising her voice, though she paused to swallow convulsively.

"What?" It was as much incredulous confusion as inability to hear, but Sam turned around, eyebrows raised.

"Stop the car, Dean. _Now_." Her breath hitched. Sam straightened in his seat.

"Dude, maybe you should pull over."

Dean glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "We're twenty minutes out from the next rest stop. Can't you—"

"Unless you want the interior of the Impala painted 'breakfast', you better stop now."

Seconds later, Lily staggered out of the car, made it three feet, then doubled over to vomit until her stomach was empty.

"You okay?"

She hid a flinch at hearing Sam's voice so close behind her by straightening up, spitting into the grass. She dragged a hand over her mouth. "Sure."

"You sure?"

"Just said I was, didn't I?" Lily swallowed, grimacing at the taste in her mouth. She suddenly felt…grumpy, to say the least. Or rather, she was afraid and confused, and frustrated that she hadn't figured anything out. But it felt moody.

She accepted the water bottle Sam offered without making eye contact and rinsed her mouth. The water felt thin and cold in her stomach as she climbed back into the Impala, missing the shrug Sam had sent to Dean, who turned and asked the same thing: "You feeling alright, Lil?"

"Jesus, I just said I'm fine, Dean. Leave it alone."

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled back into the road. "Yeah, puking's how I show I'm doing good, too. What do you want to eat?"

"Doing _well_, and why would I want to eat? I'm…I'm carsick."

"Because you just threw up everything you've eaten since yesterday, and if you _are_ carsick, starving yourself won't help your stomach. But you're not."

"Starving myself? No, I'm not. Good guess," Lily grumbled. "My brother the friggin genius."

"You spent half your life in this car, Lily. Don't give me that carsickness crap."

"It's not—"

"Alright, guys. That's enough," Sam finally snapped. Forth-coming death or not, things hadn't changed much between his siblings. "Lily, we'll stop at the next rest area for Dramamine and water. If you're hungry then, we'll eat. If not, we don't have to. 'Til then, just…take a nap or some—"

"I'm not tired."

She knew before the last syllable had even left her mouth, she had spoken too quickly. The agitation fueling her fear flared under the additional frustration of having been found out. Dean shot her a look, and Sam, too, glanced at her through the rear view mirror. She tightened her jaw, hoping her face wasn't red, and glared out the window at the rain. There was a long stretch of silence—she could almost feel Sam convincing Dean not to scream at her—before Sam said, "Alright, Lily. Just…wait then. And tell us if you feel sick."

"Carsickness my ass," Dean muttered bitterly. But Lily could see the speedometer needle edge down to sixty anyway. She pursed her lips and cradled one swollen wrist in her lap.


	31. Just a Chair

**Just a short note: So far, so good (as far as regular-ish updates go). Next chapter is completed and uploaded, and the third is in second-round editing. Thanks to all the old readers who for some reason keep coming back, and thanks to all the new readers for your kind words! Seriously-it's you guys who keep me going, when I'm being lame and lazy. This is all for you! Enjoy!**

**CA**

**PS-Sorry for the short chapter. Next one's twice as long, honest!  
**

* * *

The cold railing of the second story motel room burned her stomach through the thin fabric of her cotton t-shirt, exacerbated by the sweat which coated her body with an oppressive weight. There was a cool rain falling, hardly enough to wet the empty parking lot before her toes, but she took it in anyway, closing her eyes, dragging in slow breaths, as deep as she could manage.

They'd somehow managed to suffer the tense silence the rest of the way to Lawrence, pulling into the closest motel they could find, so Dean could stagger into a bed, and Lily could continue to mope, and Sam could try and mediate. She'd settled on the couch and sort of tried to sleep for two hours before a half-dream of Demon-Sam sent her running for the bathroom. There hadn't been much—an old house, a mother and her daughter, the ghost of a little girl who kept who had lived there who wasn't really a little girl at all.

Now she was outside, stomach woefully empty, though it was probably a good thing, because she kept replaying the dream in her head, and she felt her stomach clench, her throat bob—but nothing came.

She held out a hand to the mist of rain, watching cool drops gather on her arm and run down her fingers to fall the fifteen feet to the ground below. She made a face and raked a wet hand through her hair. "What's wrong with me?" she said, her voice softer than rain itself.

The anxiety about going home was one thing, maybe even feeling nervous enough to throw up. But the pain that still radiated from her belly, the weird dreams, the way everything was worse when she was alone with Sam—

"Thought you'd said carsickness," said a voice, rough with sleep, behind her. "You think it's flu?"

Lily all but screamed, and had nearly disarmed Dean—not that he was armed to begin with—before she realized who he was. And now they were both awake.

He raised a curious eyebrow, then frowned as he realized how tense she really was.

"What's wrong with—"

"I don't _know_," she snapped, yanking away. "Just wanted some fresh air. Go back to bed."

"Yeah, right, and risk you attacking me in my sleep? Thanks, but no thanks, Rambo. How 'bout we discuss why I say 'home' and you threaten the Impala?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't threaten the Impala."

Dean was not amused. "You wanted to ruin the upholstery. That's threatening to her _and_ me."

"Sorry to offend."

"You're changing the subject."

"No, I'm not. _You_ brought up the Impala."

"I brought up home."

"Yeah, well." She turned away too quickly to feign nonchalance, then muttered under her breath, "It's not my home."

"What?"

"It's not," she said evenly, "my home."

"Look, Lily," Dean started. "Just because you don't remember—"

"How could I call some place I don't remember home? And…and I do. Kind of"

"Do what?"

"Remember. That place. The house. Sometimes. I mean, nothing real, just dreams." She dangled her hand over the railing again, catching raindrops on her fingertips. "Flashes of light, fire, heat," she continued, keeping her back to him. "Your face, and Sam's. Dad's. But never Mom's. And…never a way out."

"You—"

"If you say I'm being melodramatic, I'm going to punch you," she said, though it was more weary than annoyed.

Dean smirked. "Well, you are. But I was gonna say you should come inside. It's freezing out here, and since shoes suddenly aren't your thing…"

Lily rolled her eyes again. "I'm fine, Dean. Go back to bed."

"I already told you I'm not turning my back on you, so we may as well chill here. Or inside. Where it's warm."

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"I'm not cold."

"I can see the goose bumps on your arms from here."

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, trying to communicate. "I know. I'm not _cold."_

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as it occurred to him what she meant.

"Oh."

Lily rolled her eyes and turned away again. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Lily…"

"Dean." She was regretting asking for help now, even if she hadn't actually asked. Maybe she just ought to—

"There's…there's nothing there, Lily. No fire, no…nothing you saw that night. It's just a house."

"Exactly."

"What?"

"It's just a house, Dean. That—_that's_ what scares me."

"What do you mean?"

"There's nothing _there_, Dean," she said finally, hugging her arms and leaving marks of white on her skin. "There's nothing there for me."

"Why—?"

"You said you saw Mom last time. Her ghost. She knew you. I can't even see her in my dreams. She wouldn't…she won't…I don't want to go back. I can't take the chance that she wouldn't know me. I'll…I'll stay. I'll stay back, I mean. Here. I'll…I dunno, I'll do some research or something."

"Lily, you hate—"

"There's nothing there for me," she repeatedly flatly. "I'm not going."

"It's your home!"

"It's _your_ home. My _house_ burned down in a fire I can only see when I close my eyes. _I _don't have a home."

She had her back to Dean again, and started when she felt him put an arm around her shoulder, resting his chin on her head like he had when they were younger. She wanted to push him away, but she suddenly felt very tired.

"You're shaking," she said dully.

"That's still you," he said, chaffing his hands up and down her arms. "You know, Sammy was born blonde."

She still felt tired, numb. But she was glad for the distraction from the fear and the cold, and so her interest was piqued. "What?"

"Not platinum, or anything, but blond-ish. He lost it before you'd remember, and it's not like we have any pictures, or anything, but he was."

"Go figure." It was quiet. "What's your point? It's not like you to change the subject."

"I'm not. I'm saying Sammy was a freaky looking kid when Mom died. And twenty years later, she recognized him as a freaky looking giant. Take it from me, no one would put two and two together on that. But still she knew him, Lily. And she'd know you, too."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I know it like I know how to breathe, Lily. She's your Mom. It's, like, scientific or something. I won't make you go if you don't want to, but you shouldn't skip just because you think she wouldn't recognize you. She would. She's your mom, too, even if you can't remember her."

Lily paused, then turned and buried her face in his chest. "But I do. I mean, sometimes I do." Dean waited, quiet and warm. "Nothing…not a lot. Nothing complete. But things. Her voice. Her hair. Sometimes her eyes, or her chin or her nose. Little things. If I could draw, I'd put them all together, but then I might be wrong, so—"

"You know her, Lily. Better than you think you do."

"Okay."

"Let's get inside. It's cold as hell out here."

"Okay."

"You coming in?"

"In a minute."

But when Dean woke up three hours later, Lily was gone.


	32. Sundays with Missouri

Soooo, as it turns out the last chapter was so short because I forgot to post part of it. ^_^* My bad. I went ahead and tacked it on to this one, so now it's extra long, which is good, because it might need to hold you over a leeeetle longer than anticipated. I've rearranged my next couple chapters, and the one after this one is giving me some problems. Still, shouldn't be more than two weeks at most. Thanks for your patience, and sorry (in advance!) for the cliffy. Don't hate me!

Lurve,

CA

* * *

"You know your brothers gonna kill you, right?"

"I guessed. But you said—"

"I know what I said. But you got to understand actions come with consequences no matter what anybody say."

"Right. Consequences." Lily scooped another forkful of scrambled eggs and peppers into her mouth. She'd known, last night, as soon as Dean had returned to bed, that she wouldn't be following him. She'd waited until the sounds of movement stopped, pulled on her rain boots and a sweatshirt from the Impala, and thumbed a taxi.

"Ain't you a little young to be out by yourself at this time of night?" said the driver as he pulled away from the motel.

Lily stared out the window at her room. Sam and Dean were still asleep. She hadn't trusted herself to go back inside, even to leave a note or grab a phone, lest she wake them up or be too intimidated to move on.

"Well," she'd said finally as the car had pulled away from the lot—too late to turn back now—and she turned back to the driver, meeting his eyes evenly in the rear view mirror. "I'm too old to be running away."

He'd stared, then smirked. "Alright, girly. Where're we headed?"

"Li—Jess," she'd corrected. "My name is Jess. And I don't know yet. Just drive."

It was true enough; though she couldn't guess why she'd changed her name. She didn't know where she was going, only that when she got there, she might get some answers. And she wouldn't have to go home. She'd left a note—"I'm okay. I'll be back soon"—on the wheel of the Impala, and left. They'd only been driving for about an hour when the pain in her side flared again as they passed a dirt road, veering off into a thick cluster of trees.

She'd asked the driver to stop; he'd hesitated, then let her out when she offered a tip. Twenty minutes later, she'd shown up at Missouri's door soaking in her pajamas. She'd peered up at the imposingly…kind woman, dark wet bangs dripping in her eyes.

"Hi."

The woman put a hand on her cocked hip, and raised a brow. "Honey, I don't know where you from, but 'round these parts, before 8 AM's a little early for hitch hikers. Do I know you?"

Lily hesitated. "Does it sound completely crazy to say, 'I think you do,'?"

The woman stared, then bent and tucked her fingers under Lily's chin. "Lily Winchester." The surprise must have been evident on her face, because the woman laughed and said, "I thought you said you knew I knew you."

"I said it was crazy, too."

"Just because it's crazy don't mean it's not right, girl. Now come inside. You got five minutes to find dry clothes before my biscuits burn."

It had been just over an hour, now, and while Lily was in dry, borrowed sweats, and her hair was still damp, she was well fed, and completely certain she was in the right place. Of course, she still didn't know how she'd gotten there, or why she was there at all. What she did know was that her brothers were en route, and she was not looking forward to their greeting.

"You keep jiggling your leg like that, you gonna have to explain to your brothers why you have to stay an extra hour to fix my floor, honey."

Lily glanced up from her empty plate. "I'll fix your whole house if you hide me," she muttered.

"And what's wrong with my house?" Missouri snapped.

Lily had to bite her lip to hide a smile. Somehow, the older woman's harsh tone found a way to lift Lily's otherwise sodden spirits. Lily was beginning to wonder what kind of powers this woman possessed—and how she'd know Missouri possessed powers of any kind at all.

"Nothing, ma'am," she'd ceded.

"Damn right, 'nothing,'" said Missouri, turning back to her stack of pancakes, eggs and bacon.

Finally, Lily couldn't contain her curiosity any more. If she was going to die in twenty minutes, or whenever Sam and Dean arrived, she was going to die knowing what she'd come for.

"What's wrong with me?" she blurted suddenly.

Missouri turned and put her hand on her hip again, pancake batter dripping from her improvised spoon-weapon. "Aside from you leaving your dirty plate on my table?"

Lily half grinned as she dutifully carried her plate to the sink and began scrubbing. She kept scrubbing as she spoke, cleaning her plate, then the other dirty bowls and mugs in the sink. It gave her something to focus on.

"Yes. Aside from that."

"Depends on what you mean by wrong."

"Wrong. Not right. Not normal."

Missouri laughed. "Girl, I've known your family since before you were born. I can tell you right now, there's not one normal thing about you."

Lily kept scrubbing. "Okay. But did my Dad have dreams about demons and ghosts? Did he know when…when supernatural things were around? Like some sort of freak divining rod for everything unholy. Like—"

A door slammed open at the far end of the house. The plate Lily held in soapy hands clattered into the sink.

"Hello?" It was Sam. And then, overlapping, much louder—and _much _angrier—"Missouri." That was Dean.

"Crap," Lily muttered. Missouri leveled an even, almost reassuring glance at her.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing at the table. "And stay there." Then she swept out of the kitchen, all but shouting, "Boy! Why you yelling in my house? I don't burst into your house all hours of the morning to raise hell, do I?"

Even Dean's very somber "sorry…" couldn't bring a smile to Lily's face.

"I'm gonna die before Sam," she moaned, placing her forehead on the table.

Sam entered first, and, upon seeing Lily face down on the table, went to his knees beside her.

"Lily? Lily, are you—"

"Hide me."

"Why? What's wrong?" She could hear the worry, almost palpable in his voice.

And then she did look up, anxiety etched into every line of her face.

"Dean's gonna kill me."

* * *

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Dean had been pacing the same two square feet of linoleum since he and Sam discovered Lily and determined that she was not going to die in the immediate future.

Unless Dean had something to do with it.

"Dean—"

"No, shut up, Sam. I'm talking to Lily. 'Dyou know our baby sister has a death wish?"

"That's not—"

He turned on her. "Unless you're gonna answer my question, Lil, you better not say a damn word."

Lily shut her mouth again, somewhere between frustration and aprehension. Both Sam and Missouri had abandoned her to Dean's wrath, which she now witnessed from where she sat, sullen and silent, at the kitchen table.

"Dean, you need to calm down." Lily could read Sam's expression like a book: _You left in the middle of the night and scared the hell out of us, but I won't let him crucify you. Yet._

Dean ignored him. "So? Lily? You ready to tell us why months before Sam is supposed to die, when God knows what is looking for us, you up and run away in the middle of the night? No note, no call, no—"

"I _left_ a—"

"Not an answer, Lil."

"Well, if you're not going to give me half a second to explain—"

"Explain what?"

"I…I…" They stared at her expectantly. _So much for Sam's help_, she thought. She balked. Dean had a point—explain what? How she'd been compelled, drawn to a place she'd never been before to seek answers to something she couldn't even put into words?

"Yeah?"

"I'm…thinking."

"Apparently not, since you seem to _think_ 'I'll be right in' means 'I'll take a taxi to some place I've never been in the middle of a 4 AM thunderstorm.'"

"I just needed answers, okay?" she exploded finally, getting to her feet. "I'm not running away from anything, Dean. I told you I'd be back, and I am. I just…I just needed answers."

Now it was Sam who spoke. "Answers to what?"

Lily shrugged, turning to the sink, away from her brothers. "I dunno. Questions."

"Questions. Right."

"I…I've been…" Lily sighed, then turned around and took a deep breath. "Promise not to freak out."

"As long as you don't say anything freaky," Dean muttered dully.

Lily shot him a look, then glanced at Sam, pleading with her eyes. His face softened. "What is it, Lil?"

"Do…do you remember…I mean, of course you remember. When I was a kid?" she began, staring at Sam and only Sam. "When the demon possessed Dad and attacked me?"

Immediately, both Dean and Sam stiffened. Dean put a hand to the pistol at his belt, Sam launched himself off the wall.

"What happened, Lil? Did someone come after you? Is Missouri—?"

"No, no. No one's possessed. Look, if I'm gonna share this with you guys, you have to be patient, okay? Just…trust me. It's a lot."

"And you've said nothing about it," Dean said, still looking tense.

"Right, yeah. Sorry." Lily tapped the pad of her thumb against each of her other fingers in rapid succession, back and forth down her hand, a nervous habit from when she was much younger…and about to get yelled at. "So…here's the thing. Promise not to freak out."

"We already promised, Lily. Just say it."

"I'm getting there! Be patient. It just—"

"Just what?"

"I have visions!" she blurted suddenly, regretting it before the final syllable had even left her lips. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then continued. "Well, not visions, but—"

"What?" Sam had spoken first, his tone somewhere between horror and desperate hope. Lily looked up, met his eyes, breathed out. Maybe one of them almost smiled.

"Well, I—" she started.

"How long?" Dean, however, sounded angry. Scared.

"You said you wouldn't freak out."

"Freaking out? Who's freaking out? No, I'm asking a freaking question, which you have about two seconds to answer, Lily."

"Dean, stop," Sam said firmly. Lily paused, uncertain as to whether he was defending her…or himself. "Go on, Lily."

"Not…not visions, exactly. It's…things that haven't happened. That couldn't, or won't or something. Dreams. But I don't see things like you, Sammy. None of these things have happened yet. Or…or ever, but they have. It's like—"

"What things?"

"I dunno…things. This girl and her mother living in a haunted house. Sammy as a demon. This guy, a hunter, he's after Sammy, after me, his name is…G something, George or Gary or—"

"Gordon." Sam had gone pale. "You mean Gordon?"

Lily looked up. "Yeah, yeah, that's it. How'd you—"

"It's not a dream, Lily. Gordon is real."

"What?"

"We met him a few weeks before you came out here. He's had it in for me ever since—"

"How do you know about him? We never told you. What do you mean he's after you? Did he—?"

"I don't know!" Lily cried exasperated. "I'm telling you, I just see these things, I thought they were dreams, but—"

"They're not."

All three Winchesters turned to look at Missouri, who'd enter with a bouquet of small blue flowers.

Sam was the first to recover. "Then what? Visions? She's like me?"

"Sam, that girl ain't got nothing in common with you but your parents and your patience with Dean," the woman snapped promptly, searching for a new vase for her flowers. "No, sir. You already know you got visions, boy, and you got to figure out the rest for yourself. Your sister is another matter. She don't got visions, quite. What you got, Lily, is the Sight."

_The Sight. _Lily could almost hear the capital _S_. She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You already said you know when supernatural things are around," said Missouri.

At this both Sam and Dean turned to look at their sister. She blushed, self-consciously folding her arms over her stomach, but Missouri went on before she could say anything.

"Well, in that same way, you catch Sight of things they mighta done when you weren't around, before you were there, after you met them, or even if you never woulda met them."

"Like-?"

"The haunted house you saw? Baby girl and her mama with a little demon child with 'em?"

"Yeah…"

"Your brothers woulda been over there near two months ago if you hadn't been here."

"What do you mean?"

"Lily, everything we do's got consequences for someone, somewhere. You just happen to be able to See some of those consequences."

"But _why_?"

"Do I look like an encyclopedia to you? I want to help you, honey, but I can't do everything. All I can tell you is you got a real special gift, and you better figure out how to use it."

"Special how?" Lily blurted, feeling the hot arms of a sudden and desperate fear crawling up her throat. She didn't know what this 'Sight' was, but she was quite certain she hated it. How could she be expected to wield something she didn't understand, to use it to save lives, when she couldn't even control it? It was as if all the responsibilities of Superman had been thrown at her, and the instruction manual had been left back on Krypton. She was supposed to be saving the people of Metropolis, and instead she was cowering in a kitchen, afraid, alone, confused. Sam was going to die, and it would be on her head. Dean would hate her, would leave her, would—

"Lily," Missouri said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes were gentle. "I can't help you no more, baby. I'm sorry."

"And me?" This was Sam again, looking just as dumbfounded as Lily felt.

"I think you already know, honey."

"I'm special."

"Yes."

"Dad knew."

"Toward the end, yes."

"He sacrificed himself for Dean, didn't he? Because he knew about me. About…us."

"Us?" said Dean. His voice was hollow. Lily wanted to go to him, but she found she couldn't move herself.

"Us. Me and Crenshaw and Andy, and Max, that girl Ava—"

"Who?" said Lily. But even as she asked, she realized she knew. She'd dreamt about her, too, about Ava, Sam's friend. Dreamt and forgotten. What else had she forgotten, she wondered, in the years since the demon had visited her? What might she have prevented—who might she had saved—if she had heeded the demon's terrible warning? She sat down again, feeling sick.

Sam was still talking. "We're all the same. Like Crenshaw said. The house fires, the nurseries. The Yellow-Eyed Demon visited all of us all those years ago, the night Mom died. He's had something planned for years. But me…I'm like them, almost exactly, but they're all Lily's age—"

"Something happened," Lily said suddenly, as if she'd just been locked outside her house to and heard thunder on the horizon "In the nursery, the night of the fire. Same as what happened with all the other kids in the Yellow-Eyed Demon's army. He did something, prepared you for something. Somehow."

Sam, Dean, and Missouri stared at Lily, who didn't look back. Her eyes were vacant as she beheld Missouri's new bouquet of flowers—lilies, she realized. She looked up suddenly, holding Sam's brown eyes with her own green ones.

"Sammy, whatever happened to you—it wasn't for you."

Dean frowned. "What?" But Sam understood. A light came to his eyes as if he were recalling something he had forgotten a long, long time ago.

"The Demon wasn't counting on me being there," he said slowly. "I must have interrupted…like…like Mom did. But he didn't kill me."

"You intercepted him," said Lily. "Whatever he did to you, whatever made you…like them…it was meant for me."

* * *

Dean's head was spinning.

He was sitting alone in the Impala. Lily, who had stayed up all night, had crashed not long after the terrible and revealing conversation. Sam was helping Missouri clean up in the kitchen. And Dean—Dean was trying not to panic.

How could everything have changed so quickly? He'd thought he'd hit rock bottom when Dad told him to kill Sammy. But since then…

John had given himself over to the demons—to save Dean himself.

Sam had been touched or morphed or turned or _something_ as a baby to become part of the demon army for Yellow Eyes.

The conversion had been meant for Lily. His baby sister was supposed to be a monster. His little brother was.

"No," Dean said, trying to sound certain. "Not a monster. Just…just…"

Something had happened on that night all those years ago. Something besides losing his mother, something besides Sammy being corrupted. Something that put four-year-old Sam in the right place at the wrong time. Something that had saved Lily's life and damned Sam's own. Dean supposed he ought to be proud, but he just felt sick.

And Lily.

Maybe she wasn't part of the demon army, but she was something. She'd been having visions of things she'd never seen, things she couldn't know, things that would never even happen, if only everything had gone according to Yellow Eyes' plan all those years ago. And she could sense the supernatural.

"How?" he'd asked, just one of many questions.

"I…I don't know," she'd stammered, avoiding his eyes. "I just can. Andy, and his brother, too. Other demons—"

"Why not Sam?"

"Maybe I've known him too long," she'd said bluntly.

So, what? Was he expected to kill her, too? How could John ask that of him? And how did he fix it?

A knock at the window sent him leaping into the air. He quickly composed himself, and looked over to see Lily standing at the passenger's window, in a sweatshirt and shorts, shoeless and clearly asleep on her feet.

"Lily? You okay?"

She yawned and yanked the door open. "Are you?"

Dean smirked. "Good point. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

She smiled mirthlessly. "And shouldn't I be normal? And shouldn't Sam be happy? And shouldn't Dad be alive? And shouldn't—"

"It's gonna be okay."

"You're just saying that."

"Yeah. But it is. Go back to bed."

"Can't sleep." Even so, she yawned, drew her feet up under her overlarge hoodie, and closed her eyes.

"Yeah, I can tell." Then he chuckled. "You know, when we were little, and Dad couldn't get you to sleep, he put you in the car and drove around 'til you did. Hours sometimes. Used to knock Sammy out, too, after a while, when it was dark."

"It's not dark," Lily mumbled into her headrest.

"It's stormy. Good enough."

"For what?" Lily asked. Her question was answered when she felt the Impala rumble to life beneath her. "What about Sammy?"

"You haven't slept in days, Lil. I'm betting this'll take three minutes, tops. And knowing Missouri, Sam'll be doing dishes for three hours at least. Get comfortable. Go to sleep. We'll worry about the rest later."

True enough, Lily was asleep in minutes.

She would come to regret it later when she woke up two days later, 600 miles away and completely alone.


	33. Sammy's Christmas List

**My explanation for why I've been away so long would be longer than the chapter itself, so I'll just say I'm sorry, and please accept my sincerest apologies, and if you've commented and haven't heard back from me yet, I'll get to you ASAP. Also, next chapter up by mid-next week, SUPER promise. There, now that I've promised, I can't back out, right? **

**...Feel free to pester and/or guilt trip me.**

**Thanks for being so awesome, guys, and new readers, enjoy!**

**Massive loving,**

**CA**

* * *

"...and the Ze...the Ziplin, you know, the blimp Micro Machine from Indiana Jones, and a new Starscream Transformer, and...and..."

Here, four-year-old Sam Winchester leaned forward on the cheap velvet-clad lap of a surly-looking Santa Claus—and away, Bobby Singer suspected, from his equally surly-looking eight-year-old of a brother, who utterly refused to take part in the holiday festivities—to whisper loudly enough to counteract the secrecy in the first place, "And a Teddy Ruxpin!"

Bobby couldn't blame Dean for his precocious irritation. He hadn't wanted to be subjected to the last minute shopping rush either. The largest mall in Lawrence was full to the brim of frantic mothers, stoic fathers, and screaming children pulling their parents here and there in the chaos of Christmas Eve eve. The static of holiday tunes was well eclipsed by repeated chants, "Now, close your eyes..." and "But, Mommy, I want that," and, "Have a Merry Christmas, or whatever," (the latter, of course, largely perpetrated by wan teenagers whiling away their holiday break time for extra shopping money). You couldn't take more than two steps without being nearly run over, and after almost an hour and a half of waiting in line to take a picture with the increasingly short tempered Santa, Bobby had about reached the end of his patience, even without Dean snapping at a child several inches taller than them—and now six spots ahead of them—in line.

But John had called him, frantic, two nights ago. It was almost four in the morning, a handful of days before Christmas. Bobby had staggered to the phone in the dark.

"'Lo?" he'd grumbled, rubbing a bruised shin with his free hand.

"Bobby? Thank God, I couldn't reach Jim. Listen, it's Mary, she-"

"'Zit time?" Bobby was awake quite suddenly, already pulling on his boots. Mary had been fit to burst for days now. She'd been expecting her third child, they knew, weeks before.

"I'm gonna take her to the hospital. Could you—the boys...?"

"You go. I'll be there in five minutes, John."

The relief was evident, which was fortunate, because whatever he had been about to say was quickly drowned out by a distant, but loud, "John, we need to _go_."

Five minutes and twelve hours later, Bobby had answered the phone quietly, as so not to wake a napping Sam, while an anxious Dean stood at his knee.

"John?"

"Bobby. False alarm." John's voice was weary, and Bobby's throat tightened.

"False alarm? You don't mean—?"

"Everyone's fine," John answered quickly. "But Mary's been having...I dunno, I guess fake contractions or whatever for a while. We're both tired, but they say she'll be done...soon."

Bobby had nodded, giving a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder to Dean, who'd seemed on the verge of tears, intuitive even then. The oldest of the Winchester children had looked away quickly, furious to have been found out.

"You want me to bring the boys by?"

"Not yet," said John, and Bobby could tell he was stifling a yawn. "Mary's a little out of it, but I'll call as soon as we know anything." There was a long, tense pause, and Bobby knew what he was going ask before he asked it.

"I'll stay as long as y'all need me, John. Don't gotta be couth about it."

John chuckled wearily. "Thanks, Bobby. We owe you. I owe you."

The boys had been growing sulkier the closer Christmas came. Sam was complaining there wouldn't be time to decorate the tree, to secretly unwrap a new pair of pajamas for Christmas morning, to build gingerbread houses or watch movies. Dean's outward concerns were slightly more mature; Bobby knew the boy didn't trust him to watch both Winchester brothers after having only met him a handful of months ago, and so only rarely let Sam out of his sight. Moreover, he asked about his parents, in particular his mother, every hour, and Bobby had caught him sneaking the phone into his bedroom on more than one occasion at any given moment (he was continually thwarted, however, by the wire trailing through the house from the phone to the kitchen).

Bobby also suspected, however, when he'd thrown his one and only tantrum after being told his parents would not, in fact, be around to watch the _Christmas Story_, that Dean was concerned with his holidays as well.

And so Bobby had opted to take the kids to visit Santa after a call to the hospital where John had been spending his nights. Sam, who'd been muttering under his breath something about 'hating the new baby' all day, was immediately brightened. Dean, however, was not so thrilled.

"I don't wanna go see stupid Santa," said Dean, throwing Bobby a mutinous glare. "He's not even re-"

"Don't. You. _Dare_," Bobby had interrupted, nodding at an ecstatic Sam.

Dean had relented, though continued pouting. "I want to see my Mom and Dad."

They had all made it, though, through the thronging holiday shoppers and persistent Salvation Army volunteers, and now a temporarily vindicated Sam, normally quiet and shy, was reciting his Christmas list with a meticulous detail that would only grow stronger for the next twenty some odd years.

But even Bobby only had so much patience. "Alright, Sammy, better be getting back..."

Sam turned as if he'd been struck from behind, paradigm of the four-year-old Sammy Bitch Face. "No! I'm not done yet!"

Bobby's friendly, paternal smile twitched. Times like these he wasn't sorry he never had kids. "You make that list too long, and Santa won't remember to bring you nothing."

Sam was indignant. "Santa remembers _everything_," he said in scandalized tones.

"Well, he's gonna remember this if you don't quit makin' a scene and come on, boy." Other parents were giving Bobby understanding glances, but children were beginning to fuss, and 'Santa' looked like he'd had quite enough as well.

"I'm not going 'til I'm done with my list!" Sam said, now on the verge of tears.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Quit being a such a baby, Sammy."

"I'm not a baby!"

"You're more of a baby than the new baby," snapped Dean, who, after days cooped up worried about his parents, and apprehensive of his duty as older brother to a new child, was retaliating.

"Shut up!" said Sam, red in the face. "I am not! I am _not_ like the new baby! He's gonna...gonna be really dumb, and Mommy and Daddy won't like him." The rest of the crowd had fallen silent, half stunned at the very personal argument now pouring from the mouth of a babe, half stunned at the fierce sincerity with which he made it. Santa gaped. Bobby would have bet his arm both Sam and Dean had forgotten he was there. "He's making Mommy and Daddy miss Christmas," Sam continued, chin quavering. "He's making us have to stay by ourselves. I hate him. I hate the new—"

"_One Bobby Singer for phone line two. Bobby Singer, line two_."

Sam's eyes went wide, all concerns about the new baby momentarily forgotten as a disembodied voice filled the mall. "Is that you, Uncle Bobby? Are we in trouble?" he said suddenly, glancing sideways at Santa. "I'm sorry, don't put me on the naughty list, I—"

Santa wasn't paying attention. "You Bobby?" he asked, nodding at Bobby. Bobby blinked, nodded. "Phone's over there." He pointed to a wall, and Bobby walked off, trailing Dean, who grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him off Santa's lap.

Sam went, too curious to be concerned. "See!" he whispered to Dean. "I told you Santa knows everything. He even knows Uncle Bobby's name, and Uncle Bobby's _old_."

But Dean didn't crack a smile, and when he said, "Shut up, Sammy. We gotta go," without turning around, Sam stopped smiling, too. He knew that tone of voice. That was the 'something's-wrong-that-I-can't-fix' voice that Dean only got sometimes, like when Sam fell off the slide at the park and hurt his knee. That voice always scared Sam, because if Dean couldn't fix it, who could? It was worse now, too, because he didn't think he was hurt.

"Dean? W-what happened?"

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean lied, tugging his brother over to where a pale-faced Bobby was on the phone. "We just gotta go."

* * *

They'd been in the waiting room for almost two hours before John emerged, looking exhausted, and something else. Bobby leapt to his feet, having never seen John so agitated before, but Dean grinned. He knew, Bobby realized, that the feverish brightness in John's eyes, his trembling hands and shortness of breath where not signs of trouble, but elation.

With the most excitement Bobby had ever seen in the eight year old, Dean leapt to his feet and crossed the waiting room in three strides before John caught him up, both of them laughing and hugging each other. It was nearly midnight, and the two or thee other patrons in the small beige room were sleeping, Sam included. But John only turned and retreated back into the delivery room with a brisk nod at Bobby, who scooped up a dazed-looking Sam.

When he reached Mary's room, he found her pale beneath sheets the color of the sky at noon, dripping sweat and exuberance. John stood over her shoulder, still wearing that too-new grin. And Dean sat on his mother's bed, cradling a bundle of pink in his lap.

"Pink," said Bobby, only then drawing the attention of John and Mary—Dean didn't even look up. "So, it's—"

"Her name's Lily," whispered John. "Lily Christine."

Before Bobby could ask whether the name held any particular significance, he was distracted by the wriggling bundle in his own arms as Sam squirmed from his grasp, and marched over to where Dean held his new baby sister. Sam studied the face of the sleeping girl for only a moment before saying, "My baby brother is a _girl_?" and bursting into tears.

Mary and John blinked, looked at each other, and burst into laugher as sudden as Sam's tears. Below them, Dean looked as if he'd been ask to choose between giving up ice cream or pie forever. The eight year old who'd only hours ago had given Santa Claus a death stare was now almost comically torn between consoling his brother and defending the new baby. He gaped, looking from Sam to Lily and back. "But…Sam, no…she…it's…okay…" he sputtered.

It was Bobby Singer alone watching the baby, who'd woken silent as a whisper not a half-second after Sam had started to cry. Her enormous green eyes were a match to her mother's, and Dean's as well, but they gazed at the middle Winchester child, calm and curious. Lily blinked once, then reached out a hand to touch Sam's chin, and Sam looked down at her through his tears, his expression remarkably unreadable for a four-year-old boy.

Then Mary said, "And what's wrong with girls?" feigning indignation.

And Bobby noticed, for a second time, that one Winchester's unhappiness was enough to give another pause. Sam stared at Lily a moment longer before looking up at his mother, half abashed, half concerned.

"N-nothing," he stammered. Then, quietly, "But they can't play baseball. And you can't teach them to fight."

Whatever Mary had been about to say was quickly forestalled by actual indignation. "And who's teaching _you_to fight?" she said, eyeing Dean.

John laughed. "Your little brother just threw you under the bus," he said to a red-faced Dean.

Sam shouted, "I did _not_!" at the same time as Dean hurled a finger at his father and said, "Well, _you_ were teaching _me_!"

"John!"

"What?" John backed against the wall, hands up in a gesture of supplication. "He's big enough."

"He's EIGHT."

"I am big en—"

Mary cut Dean off with a look and he quickly surrendered his baby sister to her. She took the cooing baby in her arms and smiled down at her.

"Even if she doesn't like baseball or fighting, " she said, shooting a look at Dean and John, who both cowered at once, "she could still learn. Besides, Sammy, you have a different job with Lily. A special job."

Sam stopped sniffing immediately, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Yep. You get to be the big brother now. That means more than throwing a ball _or_ a punch. That means you and Lily have a special bond. You have to look out for her, okay? You get to protect her."

Sam made a face, disappointed. "But Dean—"

"Will look out for you and Lily both," said Mary, anticipating his complaint. "And something tells me that's gonna be a lot of work. So Lily gets to be your special job. Deal?"

Sam stared at the baby for a long minute, and was suddenly holding her when Mary placed her in his arms. Mary watched her youngest son, leaning against Dean, cradling his newborn baby sister in his arms. She watched his expression change from distaste to uncertainty, to understanding, and finally, unmistakable joy. When he looked up at her, his face was set, the most serious she had ever seen her four year old. She'd have laughed if she weren't so touched.

"Deal."

Sam continued to hold Lily, and Dean held Sam while the grown-ups talked. When Mary offered the baby to Bobby, the older man balked, but the second he took Lily in his arms, and she turned those big, curious eyes on him, it was everything he had to remember his dignity and not coo at the thing.

The feeling lasted for about two seconds. Then Lily, apparently impatient, swung out a tiny fist, seized a handful of beard and pulled. Bobby chuckled and gave her a finger, which she gripped and twisted away.

"Well, Sam, you'll be glad to know you won't have no trouble teachin' this'n' to fight, that's for sure."

Sammy grinned. "Really? Lemme see!"

But Lily settled the second Sammy held her again, going almost immediately back to sleep, and Bobby smiled.

"Well, look at that. She's a fighter alright, but she wasn't just fighting."

"What?"

Mary understood. "Lily was fighting to get back to you, Sammy. Only two minutes and she knows her big brother."

Sam didn't respond. He didn't make another sound until ten minutes later when Bobby took the boys home and he had to relinquish Lily to the night nurse. It took Bobby and Dean half an hour and two scoops of ice cream to stop him crying.

Mary brought the baby home Christmas morning.

"Mornin', Mary," said Bobby with a yawn as Sam squirmed from his perch in Bobby's lap under the sparsely decorated tree. "You doin' alright?"

"I'm here with my boys and my baby girl," she said, cuddling Lily under her chin. "And we made it in time for Christmas. What else is there?"

It was true. Bobby had helped decorate the tree last night, and Sam and Dean had taken their Christmas Eve pajamas to the hospital the night before to unwrap them with John and Mary and say hi to the new baby.

Christmas morning passed too quickly, a warm, bright blur of red, green, and white. Afterward, Sam sat in a nest of wrapping paper and silk ribbons, looking around at his pile of treasure. He'd gotten everything he'd asked for, and nothing he'd remember later, save for two gifts.

The first was a pink and green stuffed dog from his mother. He loved it the second he saw it, but in that same second, Lily, fussy, began to cry.

Sam looked at her, then his mother. "Mommy?"

"Mm?" Mary didn't look up at him as she tried to determine whether the baby was hungry or tired or wet. But Sam knew.

"Does Lily get any presents?"

Mary smiled. "Not this year, sweetie. She's too young for anything but sleep."

Sam looked down at the little dog in his hands and knew that it wasn't his, and had never been. "Here. She can have one of my presents."

And for the look in his mother's eyes, Sammy would have gladly given away everything he owned. When he looked around, John was grinning, and Dean looked proud.

"C'mere, Sammy," said Mary, her voice choked with tears. "Come give it to her."

Sam crawled over and placed the dog in Lily's hands. She hugged it tight to her tiny chest, but she had eyes only for Sam. And suddenly, Sammy understood that he'd gotten two Christmas gifts that year, and though neither one of them had been on his list, he'd never get anything more important.


	34. A Wish Your Heart Makes, Part A

**It's out! Thanks for the nudges in the right direction, guys. Shorter chapter, but just because this chapter's gonna be a four-parter, and I wanted to put something out tonight, rather than wait forever to finish the second part. Give me a week, guys, and no more!**

**Thanks for reading. Lots of love, as usual.**

**CA**

* * *

Dean Winchester avoided thinking about his siblings' deaths more often than he had to: Sam, because that death was impending and an ever present weight on his shoulders, and Lily, because he'd promised both his parents more. Also, it was just sad.

But both of them would be facing much worse much sooner if the radio alarm was not turned off—_now_.

"Sam. Lily. Get _up_ and turn off the radio." Of course, one might have argued that he could have just turned it off himself, but that was what younger siblings were for. The noise persisted, playing Heart's _Alone_. It was Lily's favorite song to belt out in the shower, though thankfully, the radio drowned out her voice this morning. His little sister was good at many things. Singing was not one of them.

"Lily!" he said again, being sure to raise his voice over the sound of the radio. Nothing. He swore, rolling over, and opened his eyes. Then he swore again.

"What the hell?"

He'd passed out last night. He must have. He must have been going so long after everything that had happened—driving to Kansas, losing Lily, seeing Missouri, and hearing all those awful truths—he'd just fallen asleep and Sam, being Sam, had driven them to the nicest motel he could find. Hell, this place looked like the friggin' Ritz.

White walls, beige carpet. Stain-free ceiling, a clean-smelling bed, and windows open wide to the sun…and the sound of lawn mowers. Was this a bed and breakfast?

Dean sat up, looking around. Then his mouth fell open.

A dresser—a finished wooden dresser that probably cost more than a week's worth of _normal _motels put together—was pushed against the far side of the room, a few feet (feet!) from the edge of the queen-sized bed Dean found himself in. He stalked over to it, feeling as though he'd lost the ability to rehinge his jaw.

The dresser was topped in dozens of framed photos, and Dean was in nearly every one of them. Given that Dean had a grand total of three pictures of himself from the last twenty-eight years, and not one contained more than an ear or elbow, the display was…stunning to say the least. But that was nothing compared to the people in the pictures with him. Lily and Sam were surprising enough, considering they hadn't had much time for photo ops since John had died, and no one had much felt like it before then. But there were also pictures of John and Mary. Here was Dad smiling with Sam and what looked like a high school graduation. Here was Mary grinning with Lily, the dark-haired version of her younger self, in some day spa on, what, maybe her sixteen birthday? This was the three of them—Sam, Dean, Lily—grimacing in the sun under a giant Christmas tree, and behind that, another photo of all five Winchesters. Dean's heart was in his throat. With a shaking hand, he reached out and pulled the picture from its frame, flipping it over. In small, neat writing, it said _June 2006 – Lily's Graduation!_

Dean closed his mouth and swallowed hard and turned the picture back over in his hands. Up close, it seemed…different somehow. Harsher. The light was too bright. The smiles were too wide. Mary, John and Lily were close on one side, but there was distinct—small, but noticeable—space between Lily and Sam, and Sam and Dean. Nonetheless, Dean folded the picture into his pocket and surveyed the rest of the room.

He was just trying to figure out who the gorgeous woman in the other pictures with him was—he'd given up trying to find out what this was, a dream, a vision, death, he didn't care; all he knew was that almost-perfect picture—when a phone rang on the table beside the bed. He hesitated only a second before answering.

"H-hello?" he said cautiously, half expecting a demon on the other end.

"Dean, good, you're up. Is Carmen still at brunch with Jess and Lily? I had a question for her, and she's not answering her phone, but you know those girls. A train could run through the same room they were in, and they wouldn't notice."

She'd stopped talking, he realized vaguely. His mother, deceased now for twenty years, had asked him a question, and was waiting for an answer, but for the life of him, he could not remember how to speak.

"Dean?" she tried again after a moment, and her voice was so beautiful, so familiar, so painful, he wanted to breathe it in and throw away the phone all at once. He didn't dare do either.

"Oh, if this is that trick answering machine again, Dean, I swear—"

"No, no, Mom. It's…it's me." She wasn't really angry, he knew. But even pretend anger was too much right now. He wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, over and over again, unsullied by death or sadness or the supernatural. Just her. Just Mary. Just Mom.

"Good. Carmen's still out then?"

"Uh…" He glanced at the picture on the dresser of himself and the pretty girl. It looked recent enough, and the bed was too big for him to have it to himself. He squinted, and saw a pair of blue lacy underwear under the bed, and suddenly felt very proud of himself. "Uh, yeah, I think so. I mean, I just got up, but I don't…I don't think she's here."

"Just got up? Dean, it's a quarter 'til noon! I thought you said you were going to wash my car before Lily's show tonight. And is that shirt clean? The one you wore to Emily's Christmas party last year?"

Dean blinked, overwhelmed. What car? What shirt? Who was Emily?

"…show?" he stammered.

Then Mary did sound stern. "Oh, Dean, you didn't forget again, did you?"

"What? No, I…just…remind me."

"Dean…Lily will be crushed. You know she only _pretends_ not to care you never visit. Really, she adores you. She looks up to you."

Dean blinked, dreamy haze gone. "I…never visit?"

"Hardly!" said Mary, sounding almost defensive. "You missed her last recital, you missed her first choreo session. You only just barely made it back here for her birthday, Dean. You and Sam both. I know you both have lives now, and December is a busy time, but she turned twenty. That's kind of a big one, right?"

"Twenty?" Dean felt like an idiot, repeating words dumbly, But now he was trying to remember. What month was it? Had they just passed over Lily's birthday—two days before Christmas—again in an effort to sort things out?

"You know what, on second thought, maybe you'd better get back in bed," said Mary, now sounding wary. "I'll tell Lily you're not feeling well. Carmen'll—"

"No, no, Mom, I'm fine. Sorry. I…er…just woke up." He paused, then, feeling more hopeful and anxious than he could remember feeling in a long time, he said, "You still need me to wash the car?"

"If you bring over the shirt, I'll iron for you while you do the heavy stuff. Deal?"

Dean's heart melted in his chest as he fingered the pilfered picture in his pocket. "Deal."

* * *

Carmen was, if possible, more stunningly gorgeous in person than she was in the pictures. Jess, too, glowed, with an almost inhuman beauty that made Dean's skin crawl—perhaps for more than one reason. But the second she and Sam walked into the lobby of the nicest performing arts center in a two hundred-mile radius, she and Carmen had eyes for no one but each other. Dean grinned to see his brother coming, glad for at least one familiar face in all this.

"Didn't they just see each other a few hours ago?" he asked as Sam approached the bar Dean leaned against.

Sam looked surprised to see him there. "What? Oh, yeah. Guess so."

It was everything Dean had not to flinch. Sam's answer had not been cold, quite. But distant. Almost too polite, except it wasn't polite at all. Dean frowned, trying to shake the strange feeling crawling up his back.

"Guess they don't see each other much, do they?" Carmen lived with him, in the apartment they owned an hour from his childhood home and Mary, back in Lawrence. Sam, Dean had learned, had gotten his full-ride scholarship to law school, and was still in his second year back in California. Which made a total of six years for he and Jess. This, at least, made Dean happy. His little brother had the love of his life back.

"No. Guess not." Okay, the love of his life, but not much else. Still, Dean was not cowed.

"So, you seen Lily dance?" Mary had informed him they were attending Lily's senior distinction project—a half hour of Lily and dance. His sister, he'd learned, was a ballerina in this new life, and a good one, or at least a passionate one. It was what she'd gone to school for, graduating in just over two years. She'd been good enough, apparently to draw attention from some national dance companies, several of which had what Mary had called 'scouts' in the audience tonight. There would be other students performing, too, he knew, but the scouts were there for Lily.

He'd bristled when Mary had first explained the concept to him. "So, you're telling me, she's gotta practice hours a day, days a week—for years—and then come and watch her for half an hour and judge her on _that_?"

Mary had laughed. "Not entirely. She sent tapes before this, and competed and everything. They saw her there. And if she keeps doing well, they'll see her more, when they have her up for auditions and things like that. But, yes. Tonight is a very big night in deciding her future."

Her future. Just like that. The life his baby sister wanted—a phantom life, frighteningly different from what he knew of her—was to be dictated on a half hour tonight.

He thought of the fire that had stolen his mother, his childhood, his life—this life. Things can change in an instant, he thought.

Mary had also told him John had died early last year. Peacefully. In his sleep. Dean felt oddly relieved, then guilty at his relief.

Sam's voice brought him back to the moment again. "Not since those shows Mom used to drag us to as kids." For the first time, Dean saw the hint of a smile play across Sam's lips as he took a swig of beer. "Man, you remember those things? Dragged on for hours. I'd have rather been helping Dad with the car, you know?"

Dean didn't have time to feel like he'd been punched in the gut, even if he did. The lights overhead flickered, and the lobby began to empty, and Carmen took his arm so the five of them could file into seats. Dean stared at Sam's back until it got too dark to see.

Sitting through the first hour, Dean thought he could understand why Sam had hated watching their sister do something she so obviously loved. The first hour was pretty and probably very good, but he didn't know what was going on, and the dancing was so slow, and the music was _too_ slow, and wasn't it time to leave yet?

Then it was Lily's turn. It was odd. Somehow, something that had moments before seemed dull, lifeless, alien, now made perfect, beautiful sense. Dean was almost certain there wasn't much terribly different. Lily had the same weird, pink, flowy stuff on the other two girls had worn, which some how looked perfectly right and perfectly wrong on her, all at the same time. The song—well, okay, the song was different, but not by much. The dance, he was sure, could have been the same thing, for all he'd paid attention before. But—and here, perhaps, was the key difference—he could see in Lily's face the joy she got from dancing. It was a joy he couldn't remember seeing in the face of the Lily he knew—and he would remember, he though, because the way this made him feel was like nothing he could describe if he had a pen and paper and a thousand years. Maybe the other girls felt that way about dancing, too, but he didn't know them like he knew Lily. He couldn't read their faces and see their joy. But he was sure everyone could see hers. He wanted to stand up and find the people judging her. Wanted to walk over to them and make sure they were looking. "There," he'd say. "You find something else that makes her look like that and you make her queen of it. Otherwise, you give her that scholarship."

It hit him suddenly, and hard, this thought, so that he couldn't breathe. He sat, paralyzed, as he watch Lily leap into the air at a swell in the music, and land with a silent hunter's grace. Not that she would ever know that. Next to him, Jess murmured in approval under her breath, and he remembered Sam. Sam, who would hardly look at him, but also seemed so happy. And Mary was alive. And John had died normally, not in some twisted exchange for the life of his son.

Everything was all so perfect. And all so wrong.

He needed air. He stood abruptly, forgetting where he was. He realized his mistake too late as he felt a hundred pairs of eyes fall on his back, suddenly torn from the stage. But he was watching the only pair that mattered. Lily, in the middle of some complicated twirl, had seen him stand. Even from here, he watched her eyes register surprise, disappointment, resignation.

Then she fell. Hard.

Dean still hadn't moved when they cut Lily's music so two stage hands could rush over to help her off.


	35. Halloween

**Well. You all know what I'm going to say. I am waaaaaay behind AS USUAL, and I am oh-so-sorry AS USUAL, and if you can find it in your hearts to forgive me, I will be in your debt forever AS USUAL. Long story short, I had to change up my story line for the Djinn story from the last chapter, and that's about halfway done (let's shoot for next week...I can't make any promises, but I will try *real* hard!), so meanwhile I drafted this. It's extra long to make up for all those empty weeks, and it's based off something that actually happened to my friend-but to Lily's credit, my friend was much older at the time. =p**

**Thanks again for being so patient with me, guys! If this is you're first time reading, thanks for checking in, and keep coming back because I am not completely hopeless!**

**Happy holidays, everyone! Pardon my late holiday-themed story.**

**Heartlove,**

**CA**

* * *

It was the first and last Halloween they ever celebrated.

John was out hunting. Nineteen-year-old Dean was fresh from high school, and bitterly gathering recon, though he would have rather been out with John on what had been called "a simple salt-and-burn". But he was home, because Sam, who'd just turned fifteen, had joined a soccer team in the area, unbeknownst to his father, and had half carried his team to the county finals four towns over. Which left Lily, just shy of eleven years old, home alone and angry.

It had been almost a year now—eight months, three weeks, and four days, to be exact but who was counting?—since the night her father had become not her father and changed everything forever. And she was over it. Really. She didn't wake up screaming anymore, and the panic attacks when she was left home alone had mostly subsided. She faced the supernatural with a naïve excitement now. Trepidation, too, maybe, but a trepidation tainted by a pre-teen cynicism. Demons were, like, so _whatever_.

And John had said no (and Dean and even Sam had echoed) when she'd asked to go to the Halloween party at the school with the seventh-grade boy who'd asked.

She wasn't surprised. At ten years and ten months, Lily acted more the part of 'rebellious teenager' then than she would in any of her actual teenage years. She was moody and bossy and cocky, and hated being told anything she didn't want to hear. She lived to piss off Sam and bug Dean, and make John go that strange color of maroon he only managed when he was _really _angry.

And thanks to Dean and John, she knew enough swear words to make the older boys take notice. Yeah, her would-be date was awkward and lanky, and unpopular enough that he had to ask a fifth-grader, but he would get John's attention. And John couldn't say no over the phone.

But he could. And he had.

So, Lily had gone back to the empty apartment—Dean had told her two days ago he'd be back 'eventually', though the library was only ten miles away, so she couldn't guess (and didn't care) where he was. Sam had left for his tournament yesterday night and wasn't due back until late—and grabbed up that night's dinner cash. It was Sam's turn to check up on her that night, and he wasn't due to call for another hour and a half.

It took a thirty-minute bike trip, and most of the dinner money, but when she returned to the motel as the sunset, Lily was weighed down by three basketball-sized pumpkins and a discount carving kit.

She was on the third pumpkin when Sam called. She'd been expecting it, and even so, seeing his name flash across the screen made her remember where she was and why. All at once, she was angry again. She'd been venting her rage as much as carving, and her heart pounded with exertion and frustration. Maybe she was precocious, but she was still just ten years old, and the pumpkins were heavy. Her left arm ached, and her right hand, covered in pumpkin goop, had gone numb from the force of trying to hold the pumpkin in place as she sawed.

She tapped the speaker button on her phone, set it on the table, then went back to her sawing rhythm: a staccato _wusha-wusha_ to the rapid in-out of the little plastic-and-metal saw that was come with the carving kit. It wasn't very sharp, and the blade was thin and short, but it was jagged and toothy and did the job.

"What?" she said, breathing more heavily then she realized.

"Just checking—what's the sound?"

"What sound?" He'd be able to hear the cheeky smile in her voice, and she knew it. She wanted him to yell. He ought to be mad. He'd told her she couldn't go to the party. He'd told her to spend another night by herself. This is what he got. She was winning, and somehow, it just made her angrier. Made her want to make him angrier.

"Don't play this stupid game, Lily. The finals start in half an hour. Did you buy dinner yet?"

"Maybe." _Wusha-wusha. Wusha-wusha. Wusha-wusha._

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe," Lily replied, struggling to keep her voice even. "Late Middle English contraction of 'may be', implying uncertainty or slight possibility."

"Lily." He was mad now. He was using her name to punctuate his sentences. Good. "Did you buy dinner or not?"

"Can you eat pumpkins?" _Wusha-wusha. Wusha-wusha. _

"_What?"_

"I said, 'Can you eat—'"

"Yeah, I heard what you said, Lily. What do you mean? Why are you eating pumpkins?"

"I'm not. I'm carving them."

"You're—Lily." He went quiet for a moment. She could almost see him dropping the phone to his side with one hand, using the other to massage the bridge of his nose. "Fine, Lily. Whatever. I don't care. Just don't let Dad see."

"I'm showing Dad. And I'm not eating dinner."

"Yes, you are, Lily, I left the money—"

"I bought the pumpkins with the money. I'm making jack-o-lanterns for Halloween." _Wusha-wusha wusha-wusha._ "Since you wouldn't let me go to the party." _And if you want to stop me, you'll have to come home._

"Lily, you know—"

"Nope. No, I don't know. _I _wanted to go, and _you_ said no. So I'm not going. You never said I couldn't decorate for Halloween."

"We don't—"

"Celebrate Halloween? Have fun? Go out? No, couldn't be that, because _you_ have fun, _you_ go out. Me, I get stuck here, carving pumpkins for Dad, hoping they don't rot before he gets here." _Wusha wusha wusha wusha._

"Go throw them out NOW, and buy dinner."

"No!" _Wushawushawushawusha_. "No, Sam. You're not here. You left, so you—Oh."

The sound over the phone stopped abruptly. "Lily?"

There was a pause. Then, slowly, "Oh…crap."

Sam knew what had happened before she said it. He asked anyway. "Lily? Answer me, are you okay?"

"Uh…yeah. Kinda. Pretty much, yeah." The anger had gone from her voice. Now it was all anxious wheedling.

Sam closed his eyes and let out a long breath on his end of the phone. Even then, he knew how to read the Lily scale. Like all Winchesters, she perceived "Are you okay?" as a loaded question and greeted it with honestly as little as possible.

For Lily, if you asked and got an answer completely out of the blue, i.e., "I hate pancakes with blueberries," it meant she was daydreaming, and probably not in any immediately danger. "Fine," on the other hand, meant she was hurt, or angry. "No," said she was upset. Really upset.

But the waffling answer meant something was wrong, and it was probably her own fault—something that happened often enough to deserve its own category of lie.

So, somehow, even sixty miles away, he knew what she'd done. "Lily. Did you cut yourself?"

"I…uh…maybe. I guess. A little."

"How bad?"

"How…how what?"

It was bad. Great. "You got the first aid kit?"

"Dad took it." At least it was a direct answer, which meant she trusted him enough to tell the truth for half a second. "Dean has the other one. But it's—"

"Well, call him. Get something on it 'til then. You know the drill. Pressure. Stop the bleeding."

"It's not that—"

"Lily."

"No, listen!" She was speaking in earnest now, which would have been a relief if it wasn't so concerning. "I mean the bleeding," she continued slowly. "It's…It isn't that bad."

"Define 'not that bad'."

"The…well, the blade's…kinda in the way."

"It WHAT?"

"It's…um…in the way. Stopping the bleeding, you know?"

There was a pause. "Lily. Did you put a knife through your hand?"

"Um…"

"Lily…"

"Just a little one!"

"Oh, for the love of—okay, stay there. DON'T pull it out, just…wrap something _around_ the blade. Carefully. Keep your hand elevated. Don't touch anything. Hang tight 'til Dean gets there."

"No! Not Dean! C'mon, Sammy, he's gonna kill me."

Ah, there was the whining he'd been missing. "Lily, _I'm_ gonna kill you. Wrap your hand, and sit until he get's there. If you black out and land wrong—"

"I'm not gonna black out, I'm fine. It just—" And here was the first indication that she was hurting, and not just nervous. "It stings a little."

"Yeah, well, you put a KNIFE through your hand."

"A saw," she corrected. "And just a little one. Anyway, I can get it out myself, if I just—"

"_Don't_. Don't, Lily. I'm serious. You could really hurt yourself. Permanently. Which hand is it?"

"Not my gun hand," she drawled, already knowing the question behind the question. "It's my right." She gritted her teeth and turned her hand over to examine it. Another, longer, paler scar ran along the outside of her wrist from where she'd had the bone realigned from a break two years back.

"Is there anything around for the pain?" His voice was gentler now, and tired.

"I thought you said I was supposed to sit and stay."

"So, no?"

"I dunno. I'm gonna sit down now, okay?"

"Dean'll be there soon."

"Don't—"

"I'm an hour away, if I leave now, and I need to find a ride first."

"But your game…"

"They'll…be fine without me." He forced a laugh. "Gotta give the other team some kind of advantage, right?"

"And they say I'm the arrogant one." But her tone said something different. He couldn't tell what, but it sounded like an apology. He smiled despite himself.

"Go lie down before you fall over, alright? I'll get there as soon as I can. And I won't let Dean tell Dad, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Really promise?"

"Yeah, Lil. Really promise."

* * *

"She _what_?"

"Just a little one," Sam replied, half weary, half mocking. "Anyway, I'm heading back now, so—"

"Well, me, too. If you need to take her to the emergency room, they're gonna want a legal guardian."

"Which you are not."

"Well, I'm the legal part."

"She wouldn't let you take her to the hospital if you knocked her out first. And you won't."

"I could."

"Of course you could. She's ten, and handicapped. You could. You won't."

"Well, let me at least make sure she's not bleeding on the couch. How far are you?"

"Half an hour." There was a grin in his voice. "Assistant coach is a cop. I told him my sister was in trouble, and he agreed to drive me. I'm with him now," he added quickly.

"You told a cop—"

"It's fine. Look, I gotta go, but I'll see you in thirty minutes, alright? Go take care of her. And Dean?"

"What?"

"Go easy on her, okay? She's a dumb kid, yeah, but she's still a kid."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I always forget that part."

"I know. So does she."

* * *

Dean found her ten minutes later, sprawled over the arm of the couch, studying her own hand as she prepared to rip the three-inch blade from the web of flesh between her thumb and index finger. He had to take a deep breath to soothe the sudden anger. A little.

"Lily. _Stop." _He kept his voice firm but steady, because the last thing he wanted to do was make her jump and hurt herself worse by ripping it out accidentally.

She turned to him lazily, and her expression changed from one of reluctant determination to guilt and annoyance.

"He said he wouldn't call you," she whined. "I got…I got it under control, 'kay?"

"Sure you do," he said, setting the kit on the couch next to her, and wrapping her in his coat, because her skin had gone pale and clammy. Wonderful. "Slurring your words because you're happy to see me?"

"_NO_. You're mean. I can do it."

"You're in shock. You need to lay still and let me fix your hand before you bleed out. What the hell were you thinking, Lily?"

"M' noddin shock. Not even bleeding that much. It was an accident." She was pouting.

"It's enough. Here—it'll help with the pain, alright?" He went to the sink and filled a glass with water, offering it to her with two pills. The dosage was higher than what he'd normally give her, but they didn't have any local anesthesia, and taking her to the hospital wasn't an option. If they pulled out the tiny saw and her hand spasmed, they risked hurting her more than leaving it in.

She eyed the medicine warily before looking up at him. "Wuzzit?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's not Vicodin, Lil." She didn't move. "It's Percocet, okay? Look, we don't have time for this. You did something stupid, and Sam called me, so you're gonna get me, and you're gonna deal with it. I'm not taking you to the hospital, and I know you don't want to go, so you need to sit still and let me fix your hand, Lily."

Her face flushed red in rage and embarrassment, but the pain must have been enough that she would risk listening to him. "You're mean," she mumbled, shuffling over to accept his offering. "I wish Sam didn't call you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just take the stuff and sit down." She reached out with both hands to take the glass and the pills, before remembering that one hand was incapacitated. The look on her face as she realized this—half confusion, half frustration—made Dean forget he was angry.

"Aw, Lil…"

She recognized his tone, and scowled even deeper. "I don'need you, I can do it."

"I know. I know you can," he said, keeping a hold on the glass of water, and wrapping his other hand around her waist as he guided her to the couch. "How 'bout one at a time, okay? Medicine first then water?"

He sat and settled her down next to him, reaching over her to pull the blanket up over her legs as she trembled against him.

"You're being nice," she said, staring at his hand suspiciously. "'Ts bad."

"Take the pills, Lil," he said gently, and waited until she did, before offering her the glass of water. "It's not bad. It just means you're a little out of it."

And, as if to prove his point, she yawned and leaned up against him. He smiled and reached over to swing her legs onto the couch so she could at least pretend to sleep.

And then he saw it: Dad's now-empty bottle of Jack shoved halfway under the couch leg. There hadn't been much left, but Lily was a ten-year-old girl, who, according to Sam, probably hadn't eaten since lunch.

"Lily…you didn't." Seeing his sister hurting and helpless—well, hurting, anyway. She was hardly ever helpless—was generally enough to cool his ire, but the idea that she'd been drinking while he was away…

"Lily!"

"Mm?" It explained the sudden willingness to all but lay across his lap, despite her distrust of him only minutes ago. And now he could see it—she wasn't in shock, she was just drunk. Pale, and shivering, and disoriented, and—

"_And_ you let me give you Percocet?" He groaned, grabbed the empty bottle, and sat up. His movement startled her; her hand twitched, and she whimpered. He sighed.

"Alright, alright, I'll yell at you later. And I won't tell Dad, if you promise to keep your heart beating. Painkillers and alcohol. You know better than that."

But if she did know, she was beyond caring, and had gone uncomfortably still across his lap.

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about pain," he muttered. "A seizure, maybe, but no pain."

It was then Sam walked in, all dressed in his soccer uniform, with a bag over his shoulder. He took one look at Lily on the couch, the first aid kit on the arm of the couch, and Dean, with an empty bottle of Jack, and raised a brow.

"Really? You thought it would be a good idea to drink before you try and remove a blade from our little sister's hand?"

"No," he grumbled. "But she did."

Sam frowned. "She wh—oh. Oh, no."

"Exactly. On top of two Percocet, too."

He grimaced, and moved from the door, setting his bag down to crouch beside Lily's head. "Well, she's not gonna feel much."

"Not for, like, a week, no."

"What do you want me to do?"

"She's pretty out of it already. Can you take it out if I hold her?"

"Uh. Yeah…sure."

Dean glanced up. "Sammy, you got this. You can do it, okay?"

"And if I can't do it? If she can't use her left hand for the rest of her life, Dad'll—"

"We're gonna tell Dad Lily had an accident at school, and he's not gonna know it's any worse than it looks, because she's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. Okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." He washed his hands and grabbed the first aid kit Dean had brought with him. Settled in front of Lily once again, he gently pushed her hair from her face. She was well and truly gone by that point, but she always reacted to his voice. "Hey, Lily," he said gently. "You really did a number on yourself this time, hunh? I need you to stay still for just a little bit longer, okay? It's gonna hurt some, but then it's gonna get better."

He took the hand draped over Dean's leg and the edge of the couch, wishing that by some miracle, she'd had some paralytic. Even unconscious, her body was going to react to pain, and risk damaging the muscle more.

"Dean?" he said, suddenly anxious.

"I know. Lily, you wanna hear how Sammy got a girl's name?" She didn't answer. Sam ignored him. Dean spoke anyway. "Mom didn't know she was gonna have another boy before you, Lily, so she started planning way ahead…"

Sam cupped her hand in his, and gripped the plastic handle between two fingers. Lily whimpered and pulled away. Sam let go as her pulse started racing. Awake Lily was one thing, but Unconscious Lily reacted on instinct, and instinct said get the pointy thing out of your hand now.

Dean intervened. "Shhh, Lily. Relax. You're okay. Just relax. Relax." She wrapped her good hand around his knee and squeezed. He smirked and offered a few of his own fingers instead. "Squeeze if it hurts, 'kay, Lil?"

Sam waited for a moment before taking her other hand in his again. "She okay?"

"She's okay," said Dean confidently. "Her pulse is flagging, and her grip's a little weak, but she'll be fine." He leaned over and pushed Lily's hair from her face. "C'mon, Lil, you can do better than that. You put a dull blade through your own hand, and you're telling me you can't squeeze my hand?"

Lily pouted, but didn't wake as Sam used his arm to pin her wrist to his knee. Certain she wouldn't move, he uncapped the peroxide and tipped it over her hand, redoubling his grip as she shifted ever so slightly. "Good girl," said Dean gently, stroking her hair. "Good girl." Then, "Sammy, remember to clean the blade before you pull it back through."

"I know. I did. I am. I'm gonna pull it out now, okay? I think it'll be better if we do it fast. Give her less time to fight back."

"I'll keep her still. Give me a count?"

"Yeah. One…two…go…"

Lily hardly moved as the blade slid free and blood began flowing down her wrist in earnest. Sam grabbed a clean rag and wrapped her hand in it, tying it twice to staunch the bleeding.

"Sammy!" Dean hissed. "I said three!"

"Right. One, two, go on three."

"No. One, two, three, go. C'mon, Sammy, it's, like, basic math."

"It's not math at all."

"Yeah, whatever, just finish wrapping her hand and get her to bed before Dad gets back. I'm gonna clean up this mess.

Sam grinned, knowing he'd won, and snipped the end of the white bandage wrapped around Lily's palm and fingers. He stood, stretched, and tucked both arms under her body, standing with her. She shivered, and curled into him with a quiet whimper.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what happens when a ten-year-old drinks, Lil. C'mon, time for bed."

Dean was already throwing away bloody gauze and rolling up dirty sheets. "Leave some water by her bed. She didn't have much, but Jack doesn't party well with Percocet especially when the dance floor is a ten-year-old."

"You come up with that metaphor all by yourself?"

"Some of us can have it all, Sammy. The brains and the bod."

"The 'bod'? Are you writing for _90210_ now?"

Dean grinned. This felt right. Lily was safe in bed, and Dean was home with his brother, and no one was fighting for the first time in a long time. This is how things were supposed to be. And then he saw Sam's gym bag.

"So, you missed your game?"

Sam was pulling the sheets over Lily and didn't look up to answer.

"Do we have an extra blanket? I think she's gonna be cold."

"She'll be fine, Sammy. I asked you a question."

"It doesn't matter."

"Really?"

"It won't matter in a week." He'd pulled a blanket from the other bed, just to give himself something to do. "It would have mattered if you or Dad came home to find Lily drunk with a knife through her hand."

Sam was still looking at Lily, but he could hear Dean roll his eyes.

"She's overreacting. I wouldn't have—"

"What? Yelled? Been pissed?"

"Weren't you?"

"Obviously. But that doesn't mean I'm going to freak out at her."

"So, how's she gonna learn?"

"She's not stupid, Dean. You think she's gonna put a knife through her hand again?"

"Well, nothing stopped her this time."

Now Sam straightened to look at his brother. "You should have."

Dean's jaw tightened. "Me? Where were you? That game wasn't—"

"You knew I was going to be gone. Where have you been? 'Doing research'?"

"Exactly."

"Yeah, right. And who was 'research' this time? Cute bartender, maybe? Or some chick you picked up at the library?"

He was cut off as Lily moaned from her cot. Dean shot Sam a look, then put down his load to go to her. "Lily? What's wrong? You alright?'

"S-Sammy…"

Dean swallowed. "Lily, focus. Tell me what's wrong." Sam didn't think he was imagining the emphasis on the 'me' in that sentence.

She whimpered and folded her arms across her stomach, turning her head into her pillow. In a matter of seconds, she'd sweated through her clothes and her hair was plastered to her forehead. "My stomach hurts. I want Sammy."

"Lily, c'mon, I wanna take you to the bathroom, okay?"

"Sammy." Even through the sickness and the shaking, the pout was clear in her voice. Dean ground his teeth together.

"Lily, don't be stupid—"

"C'mere, Lil." Sam had appeared from nowhere, glaring at Dean as though he'd kicked a puppy. "Move, Dean."

Dean grunted but didn't protest, because Lily was shaking and grey and crying. Instead, he followed as Sam picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, grabbing a blanket and the glass of water as he went.

In the bathroom, Lily had hidden herself under the sink, and Sam was trying to coax her out.

"Lily, c'mon. Your stomach isn't gonna stop hurting until you throw up. You know that. You gotta trust me, okay?"

She shied away from his reaching hand and curled in further on herself. "It hurts. It hurts, I can't."

"I know. I know it hurts. But, Lily, it'll stop if you let yourself be sick, okay?"

"Lily." Dean went to his knees and extended an arm to her, half guiding, half pulling her toward him. "You need to come here."

"Dean, leave her alone!" Sam hissed. "You're scaring her."

"She's wasted, dude, not scared. And she is going to make herself sicker if she doesn't throw up, so if asking nicely isn't working, we have to try something else." And he pulled her over to lean against him, draped the blanket across her back, and pulled up the toilet seat. "Go 'head, Lil. You gotta get it up, or you're gonna feel worse."

She was shivering beneath his hands, and whimpered again. "I wanna go to sleep. I don't feel good."

"I know, Lily. You're gonna feel better in a second, okay? Just a second." He reached under the blanket and laid a gentle hand on her stomach. She flinched away instinctively—and leaned over to be sick, whimpering as she did.

"I know," Dean said gently, rubbing her back over the blanket. "I know. Just a little more and you can rest."

She was sick four more times before she could sit back shaking. Dean folded her into his arms and Sam laid down a second blanket to keep her off the cold linoleum.

"Lily?" he said gently, pushing back her hair from where she was at his shoulder, "Can you drink some water?" He offered the glass. "No, I'll hold it. You just sip. Little sips, so there's something in your stomach, okay?"

"Should we take her back to bed?" Sam said stiffly after a minute. "It's cold in here."

"Turn on the shower as hot as it goes," Dean instructed, without taking is eyes off Lily. "We'll move her in a minute. Lily, you wanna go back to bed?"

She frowned and moaned, and sank into his arms further. "Okay," he said, chaffing at the goose bumps on her arm. "Okay, we'll stay here for a little bit."

"Sammy?"

Dean swallowed and started to hand her off, but she whimpered and tightened her grip on his arm. "Don't," she said. "Sammy."

"Here, Lily." Sam sat down on the other side of her, and both of them felt her relax as she settled warmly between them. They stayed there for a long time, until the bathroom was full of steam, too humid and hot to be comfortable, but good for Lily and so good for them.

"I don't…yell at her to scare her," said Dean after a long moment, when Lily's grip has loosened and her breathing had normalized.

Sam was quiet, then said, "You don't scare her. Dad might, sometimes, but not you."

"Yeah, well. She didn't even want me here."

"She doesn't like for you to see her hurt. It's not a vulnerability thing. It's…when have you ever been able to see her in pain and not react? I mean, if there's someone else around to lash out at, it's okay. And if it's not her fault, it's okay. But something like this…she had to have known you'd freak, man. And she'd have known it was because _she_ scared _you_. She's not scared _of_ you, Dean. She's just…looking out."

Dean stayed quiet, then looked down at his sister. Her color was returning to normal and the shivering had stopped. Sweat beaded at her brow. Her cheeks were beginning to flush.

"Let's put her to bed," he said. Sam nodded, and Dean gathered Lily in his arms before letting Sam hauling Sam nodded as Dean gathered her in his arms, and let Sam haul both of them upright.

"So, now what?" Sam was at the table, wrinkling his nose while he scooped pumpkin rind and seed into his bare palm. Dean finished tucking his sister in bed. His hand lingered on her brow for an extra second before he turned away with a sigh.

"Now we clean up. Get rid of the pumpkins."

"Jack-o-lanterns," Sam corrected.

"Whatever you call them, they won't help Lily's story if Dad walks through the door right now. Throw them away."

"They don't look bad," Sam continued, showing no sign of having heard his older brother. "I mean…this one's missing a chunk, and it's all…you know, bloody. But without that…look, it's got a D on it."

"A D?"

"A D," said Sam. "Like the letter. D for Dean?"

"D for dump, Sammy. Throw—"

"And this one's got an S!" Dean knew that tone. He heaved a sigh and glanced at his brother, who was, as he'd expected, making the Puppy Eyes, as he held two surprisingly ornate carvings aloft. _Dammit_.

Trying to avoid his brother's eyes, Dean nodded at the third pumpkin on the table. "Yeah, and _that_ one looks like an M, so where're you going with this, Sammy?"

Sam had been anticipating the question. Dean could tell by the way his face brightened as he shook his head and set the other two pumpkins down. Dean sighed. He had lost. Again.

"No, look. It's got another letter on it. Two others. They all do. Look. It has an M, and another D, and an L. Then this one, with the S on it, has an A, and an O, too. And yours—with the D—has…well, an M again. And…another D."

Dean was unconvinced. "If Lily was going for the alphabet, she missed a few letters."

Sam grinned in a way that said Dean was exactly where he wanted him. "No. She didn't."

He cleared a space on the table with his arm, then moved himself between Dean and the pumpkins, arranging them where his older brother couldn't see. Dean rolled his eyes. "Choosing what order to trash 'em in, Sammy?"

Sam didn't answer. He simply stood aside so Dean could see the three pumpkins side by side, each with a letter facing toward him, and the other two turned aside. Facing the way, they spelled out _LSD_.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Happy Halloween, our sister is a drug addict?"

Sam gave him a look, then switched the D and the L pumpkins. "Better?"

"DSL. She's…a fan of crappy Internet connection."

"You really can't see it?"

Of course he could see it. It was there, his first initial, and his younger siblings', plain as day, and in order of their birth. But as soon as Dean acknowledged that, he knew he'd want to keep the pumpkins, and he could already hear what John would say when he saw them.

"Well, how do you know that's what she wanted? There are nine letters there, and you're ignoring six of them. Maybe she's spelling…mad. Or…lad. Or…ammo."

"Ammo has four letters," said Sam, turning each of the pumpkins 120 degrees, so three more letters face Dean. _DAD_.

"Oh." And the other letters. "And…she made it so they spell out—"

Sam turned them anyway to the final position: _MOM_.

"Well, crap."

"Still want to throw them out?"

"I should." Dean massaged the bridge of his nose. "But I can't."

Sam grinned. He was batting 3-0 this evening, even without the soccer game. He held up a hand. "She bought some candles. We can finish carving. If Dad asks—"

"We're all gonna get in trouble anyway." A pause. "So, we just cut off the stem, then, and stick 'em in?"

"Big enough hole so you can put your hand in. Look what she did. Without the stabbing part."

"I'm gonna kill her as soon as she can fight back."

Sam laughed. "No, you won't."

And Dean smiled, because no. He wouldn't.

Lily was still asleep when John got back, but he let them keep the Jack-o-lanterns for a whole week after Halloween. Every night, Lily would go out and light the candles, and gladly explain to anyone who passed why _MOM_ was a better message than 'happy Halloween' any day.


	36. A Wish Your Heart Makes, Part B

**I have a question for you all: Who is the absolute worst person? Is it me? If you said, 'Duh!', you're right! I can't BELIEVE how much time has passed since my last update, and from the very, very, very bottom of my heart, I am so sorry. No excuses (outside of the usual, of course, busy, busy, busy). Thank you so much to those who've read in my extended absence, and some good news (hopefully), for everyone!**

**1) I am DONE with my school career in just 2.5 weeks (after which I'll be spending all my not writing time looking for work...but still, less tedious than homework. Maybe. Probably not. Ugh. Young life.), which means I'll have more time to write things!**

**2) As a HUGE apology to all, and as a even HUGER gesture of gratitude for putting up with me, I'm uploading two chapters, right now, TONIGHT (not tomorrow, not next week, not ASAP-NOW). Two extra long chapters, back to back. Please read and love me again. =)**

**3) I've had most of the next few chapters written for over a year. They need a ton of editing, but I really, really, really want them out of the way by the beginning of break. I know, I know, you've all come to stop trusting me when I say that now, and you are totally right. Buuuuut you know what helps? Comments reminding me (re: forcing me) to get off my butt and work!**

**SO. Please, read and enjoy, and if you wouldn't mind, review! I love reviews, and also all of you! Thanks again for dealing with me. I am the absolute WORST, I know. But you are all my favorites. **

**Happy Easter!**

**Still not mine.**

**Hearts,**

**CA**

* * *

Two hours later, when the theater was empty, and the only car left in the parking lot was his, after he'd sent Mary, Carmen, Sam, and Jess on to make sure the restaurant held their reservation, because they were already twenty minutes late, Dean conned his way past the lingering hands cleaning up after the recital ('Oh, I'm a dancer, I just forgot my stuff…Yeah, I've been told I have a dancer's body'), found his way into the only dressing room that still had a light on, and pushed open the door.

She was sitting alone on the floor, with a half packed sports bag in front of her—it was, Dean realized, the same one the real Lily had brought with her from school. How had he'd never noticed with was pink before?

The Lily on the floor didn't even look up at him, though he could hear the scowl in her voice. That, at least, hadn't changed.

"Did you really just walk into your sister's dressing room without knocking?"

He couldn't help but smirk. "Well, you might have been dead."

Now she did look up, sour expression caught by the many vanity mirrors lining the small room. "What." Her voice was hard and flat and cool as stone.

"We've been calling you for half an hour."

She canted her head to one side, raising and eyebrow. "Crazy thing about walls," she said, "they're pretty solid. Makes it hard to hear people calling your name."

Dean rolled his eyes and strode to the vanity behind her head and picked up her phone—also the same, though less scuffed and dented than he remembered.

"Crazy thing about phones," he said, flipping open to the home screen: 8 missed calls. "You have one. They're good for talking through walls."

"What do you want?"

"Want? Mom said you were the one who wanted to go to dinner with everyone after your show. So why're you still hiding out here?"

"That wasn't an answer."

"Neither was that."

She huffed and turned back to her half-packed gym bag. "Forget it. I'm…I'm just packing up my stuff. I'll meet you guys there."

"What, you gonna fly?"

"I'll hire a cab."

"That's a waste. Just come with me."

"I'm not done here! I just said that."

"So, I'll wait. Better yet, here—" He crouched abruptly to help her dump her stuff in her bag. And even staring at the floor, he didn't miss her flinch away. He smirked in sudden understanding.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"You only say you're fine when you're hurt. When you fell onstage. You hurt yourself, didn't you?"

"That's stupid." Without looking at him, she tugged a water bottle and granola bar from his hands and shoved them into her bag. "Look, just give me a minute and—"

"Get up," he interrupted, half smug, half concerned.

"What?"

"Stand up," Dean said again, taking her bag—her excuse—from her and slinging it over his shoulder. "Prove it."

Now she scowled, going from confused and furtive to outright hostility. "No."

"Why not?" he said. He meant it as a challenge. The Lily he knew would have done it just to prove him wrong…

…but this Lily was more intent on chewing him out. "Why not? Because I don't owe you anything, Dean, let alone an answer. Give me my bag and get out."

"Or," he taunted. "You can come take your bag. The Lily I know would—"

That, it seemed, was enough to put her over the edge. "The Lily _you_ know? The Lily you _know_? What the hell makes you think you _know_ me at all?"

Dean felt the smug grin drop from his face with an almost audible thud. Lily's gym bag followed not far after, falling from limp fingers. He blinked. It was the one answer he hadn't been expecting—and the only one he should have expected, after everything he'd heard today. Lily caught sight of his expression—dumbfounded. Wounded, maybe—and laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh, bravo, two thumbs way up. Who knew my brother was such a great actor? Not me, of course, that would require seeing him once in a damn while."

Dean stood there, gaping like a fish. He shouldn't have been surprised. Not after the way Sam had talked about Lily, the way Mary had scolded him for almost missing her show. He'd been feeling that same oppressive guilt all day, albeit blessedly numbed by the pleasure of seeing his mother alive, knowing his father had died peacefully, and not to save his oldest son's life. Knowing his brother's truest love had never been stolen from him, and that Lily was happy to dance. But he'd also known, must have known the whole time, that even perfection wasn't perfect.

Lily glared up at him from where she sat, disgusted, it would seem, with his silence. "Get out, Dean. I'll find my own way to dinner. I've been doing it for twenty years. Why stop now?"

"W—Lily, wait. I—"

His words only set her off further.

"Why, Dean? Why? Give me one reason why I should do anything you say? What have you ever done for me? What, drove me to school as a kid? Only when it was convenient for you, and when there wasn't another girl in the car, and only if you had forgotten to pick me up the night before. Why start being genial now? Is it guilt? Are you sorry you walked out in the middle of the only performance of mine you been to since I was six? Sorry you messed up my whole future? Sorry you—"

"Yes." He spoke without thinking, and yet as soon as he said it, he knew it was true. For both Lilys.

This one, though, scoffed contemptuously. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'm…sorry for ruining your future." The words came easier now, as if they'd been waiting there just under the surface for twenty years. He wasn't conscious of forming any sentences. He just wanted to make amends. "More than you can possibly understand, Lily. I'm…I'm your big brother, but you've been taking care of Sammy and me your whole life. It's not fair to you, especially when we can just pretend you don't exist. Me, I'm so wrapped up in my own life here, even if it is perfect, I—"

"I said I'm fine, Dean," she interrupted suddenly, bringing him back to himself. She had gone back to staring at her gym bag, but he could see through a mass of dark hair that even her scalp was bright red. "I'm almost done."

"Me, too," he said gently, kneeling in front of her. "Can I finish? Can I at least see your ankle? Did you hurt it when you—"

"It's not my ankle." Her voice had lost its fire, but she still couldn't look at him. She'd packed and unpacked the same water bottle three times, he'd noticed.

"What?"

"It's…not my ankle. I'm not hurt."

"Lily, give it up already, you—"

"That's not what I mean, Dean. I'm serious. I'm not hurt." She raised her eyes to him, her face still flushed, but defiant, and stood. "See? I'm fine."

He looked at her suspiciously. "So, you've just been sitting here for forty-five minutes because…"

She swallowed and looked away from him for the briefest of moments. Then her eyes flicked back to his and she mumbled something.

"Didn't quite catch that, Lil."

"I said…I said I didn't want to have to see you. But not," she added quickly, "like you're thinking. Or at least, not anymore. I…was embarrassed."

"What, because you fell?"

"No. I mean, sort of. Not because I fell. Because you left. I…thought you…didn't like it, or something. I dunno. Maybe you don't, and that's okay, honest, you're your own person, you can like or not like whatever you want—"

Dean threw his hands up. "Lily, slow down. You're running a mile a minute here."

Lily grit her teeth, and, staring at her hands, said, "It's just…how could I walk out there and talk to you, knowing you don't…you're not…"

"Not what?"

"Not…proud of me." She spat these last words out like they burned her tongue. "It's stupid, I know. I mean, you're not Dad. You and Sam, you have your own lives, and that's great. I'm on my way to having my own, too. I just never get to see you anymore, and I thought maybe…if you came to this, and liked it, maybe…maybe you'd stay. Not forever. But for dinner. Maybe."

Eyes on the floor, and Dean too stunned to speak, Lily flushed a deeper shade of red and dropped to her knees to repack her bag with a new fervor. That complete, she stood abruptly and made to move past him, staring with a single-minded fixation at the hallway behind him. It was then he remembered himself and grabbed her arm, stopping her short. She glanced at him briefly without really meeting his eyes.

"Wait."

"I said it's fine. It's fine, Dean. It's stupid. Petty. Forget I said anything."

"Lily. Stop. Look at me."

Now she did look, her expression a strange combination of humiliation, defiance, and failed nonchalance. She tried to laugh. "What, Dean? What can you say to make me forget what I said? There's nothing, is there? Nothing you can do—"

"Nothing you can do to make me less proud of you, Lil. Nothing you can do to make me forget about you. And nothing you can do—_nothing_—to make me not love you."

She didn't move from where she stood, though the embarrassment and confusion slid off her face to be replaced by a perfectly blank mask as she studied his eyes. Then he was the one flushing red. "Um…Lily?" He was almost caught off guard when she dropped her bag again and threw her arms around him. He didn't hesitate to hug back.

"This is such a chick moment, Dean," she said after a few moments, voce muffled by his jacket.

He laughed out loud. "It better be worth it, kid."

But the voice that answered was not Lily's.

* * *

"So sweet, I've got a tooth ache."

Dean reacted on instinct, simultaneously whirling to face the threat while shoving Lily safely behind him, and for the briefest of moments, a strangely familiar face loomed from the semi-darkness, gray-skinned, and tattooed with glowing blue ink.

And then the 'threat' was Sam, and Lily was not content to stay where she was. In one fluid movement, she kicked her gym bag aside, stepped around Dean and right up to Sam, and said, "And if you want to _keep_ that tooth, you'll shut up and walk, _Sammy_."

"It's Sam, _Lil_."

"Lily."

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

And just like that, the moment was gone. Lily was stalking moodily toward the door, Sam was looking smug and irritated, and Dean was left blinking in their midst.

"Wait…what?"

He didn't get an answer, and he hadn't expected one, but he did need a second to sort through the last ten seconds.

Sam—who must have come back, or just never left—had showed up and taunted Lily, because that was apparently just what they did now. Only his voice had been dripping with so much patronizing sarcasm, Dean hadn't even recognized him. Because it had been Sam who'd spoken. Of course it was Sam. Who else—_what_ else—could it be? Dean had seen a phantom shape in the dark for a moment, but he'd imagined it, because this was _his_ dream world, and in his dream world, his biggest problem was arguing siblings.

And what a problem it was. It was like this new Lily had never let her guard down. She was back to huffing and puffing and reliving all those teen angst years Dean had never gotten to witness. And Sam was being Sam—the Sam Dean recognized as Hungry Sam, meaning he was going to be kind of a dick. Though that generally didn't mean taking it out on Lily.

But now both of them were heading for the parking lot, so Dean followed, attempting to mediate. Lily's threat had been empty and superficial, but even so, it wasn't something the real Lily ever would have said to Sammy. Not without laughing afterward.

"Sammy—er, Sam, I thought you went ahead with Mom and the girls?"

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "I did. Until we were half way there, and Mom realized she had the keys to your hunk 'o' junk." Sam raised a fist over his shoulders without turning around and opened his hand to let Dean's keys dangle from his thumb.

Dean caught up and retrieved them. "Mom was carrying my—wait, what do you mean 'hunk-o-junk'?"

Sam smirked. "C'mon, Dean, I get it's sentimental and all, but that thing's been past its trade-in date for years."

Dean chose to ignore the dig, since this wasn't the real Sammy—or Sam—he was dealing with, and instead asked, "So, how'd you get here if the others are still at the restaurant."

Sam shrugged. "Cab."

"What is it with you two and taxiing everywhere?"

"It's what you do when you're alone. Can we just go?" Lily was halfway back to the Impala at the far end of the parking lot, and all the way back to her new pouty persona. Dean swallowed a sigh. Maybe he'd just imagined the last ten minutes.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. C'mon, Sammy."

For years afterward, Dean would swear a millennium had passed in the time between blinking at Sam, then turning to look at Lily. Only it wasn't Lily. Because, all at once, there was another figure blocking his way. A figure in a long black coat, pale skin, glowing blue eyes, and tattoos on his hands, face, and arms.

The figure also had a gun pointed at Sam's forehead.

Dean immediately recognized the figure from the hallway minutes before—and from a hunt years ago, in the life that was so different from this one. How could this thing—a djinn, he knew now, and then everything made sense—be here?

"It's not fair." He'd said the words before realizing it. All around him, things seemed to have screeched to a deafening halt. But not the djinn. He had not even known they could speak.

"You had to push, didn't you?"

"Dean?" This was Sam, who'd gone rigid next to him. Seconds. Just seconds had passed, and yet everything had changed.

"It's okay, Sammy." It was a lie. It was the furthest thing from okay. But somehow, that didn't matter now. What mattered was getting New Sam and New Lily far away. They wouldn't understand, wouldn't even know what they were dealing with, and it would spell trouble, or worse if they didn't move—soon. "Listen, Sam. I want you to go get Lily and get out of here. I'm right behind you."

"So, what, I'm supposed to leave you here with Crazy Eyes?" Sam's voice was even, but Dean could feel him shaking. "Dude, he's got a gun."

"I can handle him." Dean kept his eyes trained on the djinn. On the gun pointed at Sam. "You gotta take Lily and run, Sam. You gotta trust me."

It was then Lily realized that they were in trouble. He could hear her across the parking lot: "Dean? Sam? What—?" She was still half-obscured from his view. He wondered if this Lily had panic attacks, too.

"Stay there, Lily. It's alright. Get in the car and call the police."

"She can try. It won't work," said the djinn, as Lily screamed back, "Dean, the door is locked. I can't get in. I didn't do it. I didn't lock the door, it locked itself, it—"

"Just stay there, Lily. It'll be okay. Stay there. He doesn't want you. He wants me." And now Dean was shaking, too, with fear and rage. "Okay? You creepy bastard, you want me. Let them go."

"I was perfectly willing to, Dean Winchester." The gray-blue thing sneered in an ugly way, inching the gun closer to Sammy's forehead. Dean felt sick and frozen to the spot. "You could have had all this. Everything you ever wanted, your dearest, truest wish—your mother, alive. But it wasn't enough. You had to push."

"I don't know what—"

"You should have left things where they were. You knew there was no way to fix things with Sam and Lily. Wasn't it enough that they were both alive and well? And still, you dragged them into this—into your true life."

"What is he talking about, Dean? Who is this guy?" Dean knew that tone of voice. He'd heard it countless times before when innocents came into contact with the supernatural. Sam was figuring things out. _Dammit, Sammy. Always too smart for your own good._

Dean shook his head. "I don't want them in this. Let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."

The next several seconds happened in the blink of an eye. From over the djinn's shoulder, there was suddenly a flash of pink as the entire weight of Lily's sports bag came crashing down on his head. The strap caught around his neck, and Lily pulled—hard.

If the djinn had been human, he would have been at least momentarily strangled. It would have bought Dean enough time to disarm him, and kill him for threatening Sam.

But the djinn wasn't human. The djinn was the creator of Dean's dream world, and the djinn knew his handiwork. Without taking the gun off Sammy, it twisted one mottled hand over its head, grabbed a thick handle of Lily's bag, and yanked back.

Lily half somersaulted through the air to land at his feet, panting, but scowling more with frustration than fear.

The djinn blinked as if he hadn't even noticed the disturbance, then looked down at Lily, then Dean.

"Funny, how little changes in the grand scheme, isn't it? I can take your sister out of your world, but, well…you know what they say."

Dean didn't answer, and didn't look away from the djinn as he asked, "Lily. You alright?"

"Fine. I already called the police, freak. They're on their way. Leave my brothers alone." Dean would have laughed if he hadn't felt like crying. The djinn was right. Mary was alive, and his siblings were at each other's throats, but Lily was still…Lily.

But the djinn only smiled. "Well, I don't like a liar. But I admire your gusto. So…wish granted." And then he turned the gun on her.

Dean stiffened, but before he could do anything, Sam tackled the djinn. To his credit, both figures were on the ground before Sam suddenly went limp. Lily screamed and crawled to his side as the djinn straightened again, no worse for wear.

"Alright, Dean Winchester. If you want to keep your perfect life, you make me a deal, and you do it now."

Dean's head was spinning. Ten minutes ago, he'd just fixed perfection with his sister on a musty dressing room floor. Now, there was a djinn unlike any he'd met before—how many used guns, let alone spoke?—and everything was spiraling out of control.

"Lily? What's up with Sam?"

"He's bleeding." Her voice was half tears, half rage. "It's a head wound, Dean, we gotta call an ambulance."

"I know, Lil. Just stay calm. Just stay calm for me, okay?"

"I'm running out of patience, Dean," the djinn sang in a sing-song voice. "What'll it be? Your perfect?" It cocked the gun. "Or mine?"

"What is it?" Dean said finally, broken and desperate. "What do you want me to do?"

Now the djinn smiled lavishly, passed the gun to his other hand, and held it out to Dean…grip first. "I want you to choose."


	37. Only What Is

**On to the next chapter! If things seem a little vague, they'll be explained within the next few coming chapters. Thanks, as always, for reading. Please review if you can!**

**Lurve,**

**CA**

* * *

Dean blinked dumbly at the pistol being offered him, grip first, by this strange version of the djinn that had attacked him. "Choose?" He wanted to say more. He wanted to tear this ugly freak a new one, and kill him three times over, but he couldn't remember how to move.

"Choose, Dean," the djinn said. Or at least it looked like a djinn, but none of the ones Dean had ever dealt with used guns. Or spoke. Or bartered. "I'm sure you've heard the word before, knowing you, probably in the context of 'burger or pizza' or 'blonde or brunette'. Yes, choose, Dean. Lily? Or Sam?"

Some part of him understood right away. It must have, because why else would his knees suddenly go weak?

Even so, he heard himself say, "What do you mean 'Lily or Sam'?" Both Lily and Sam were still there behind him, seated on the ground, confused and oblivious. He thought.

But Lily, his baby sister, Lily understood. "You…" she started, then coughed to clear her throat. Even so, her voice was miraculously still. She sounded almost…relieved. "You have to kill one of us, Dean. You have to kill…me."

Dean thought he would vomit, but before he could do that, his fist was flying through the air, at the djinn…who vanished and reappeared behind him, laughing.

"I thought you'd have some trouble. You humans always do. It's gotten so I have to…step in. So, here's your incentive: choose one in the next fifty seconds, or they both die."

"I'll kill you." Dean's words were a snarl. His voice sounded foreign in his own ears. "I'll find a way, if I have to stand here 'til morning."

"I'm sure you'll try. But you'll only waste your time. You know what I am, even if they don't," it said, nodding at Sam and Lily. "You must know by now that you're in my world. I'm in charge here. I gave you perfection, and I can take it away. I can take it all away and trap you here, alone."

"No…"

The djinn only shrugged. "You shouldn't have pushed."

Dean would never know how much time had passed before he heard Lily calling his name.

"…Dean? Dean, please? Can you hear me?"

He looked at her suddenly, and she looked back, looked _relieved_, even, to see that he was okay. The djinn could change things all he wanted—Lily was Lily, and always would be. She sat there, dry-eyed and trusting, Sam's head cradled in her lap. It was everything he had not to laugh. Finally, perfection, and the djinn had twisted it into a perverted nightmare of the love his siblings normally shared. And then he knew what he had to do.

He dropped to his knees beside Lily. "You alright?"

"It's okay, Dean," she said. "I'm not scared."

"I know. I know you're not, Lily." He pushed back her bangs and kissed her forehead. "I swear, I don't know where you get it sometimes, but you're too stubborn to be scared."

Absurdly, she laughed. He watched her carefully, and saw that, truly, there was no hint of fear there. She was nearly giddy. It scared him.

"Really?" she continued. "You don't know where I get it? Mr. I'll-find-a-way-if-I-have-to-stand-here-til-morning?"

"I didn't say that. I just said I didn't know where you get it."

The djinn spoke again before Dean could respond. "Touching, but time-consuming, Dean." The djinn's voice made Dean's blood roil in his veins. "Make your choice."

Before Dean could even turn around, Lily's trusting look slid off to reveal a mask of fury and disgust. "Say another word, creepy, see where your face is in five seconds."

Dean laughed, a strange, choked sound. "Now, that, I can see." He paused. "Are you happy here, Lily?"

"Here? Dean, I'm about to die." She was too nonchalant about it. Maybe she was in shock. Maybe he should try calling someone anyway, getting her and Sammy out of here…Would Bobby's number still work? Would he even know them here?

Lily went on, oblivious. "I wouldn't say—"

"No, I mean…here. In your life. Are you happy? With…with everything? Sam and me and Mom and…you know, your life?"

She blinked and stared at him for a long second. Then she smiled. "Before tonight, I would have laughed in your face."

"But now?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, I'm about to die. And…and I'm okay with it. Really. I don't care as long as you and Sam are okay and talking, and…after all this, I dunno. I guess I can see you guys making up."

"So, you're happy."

"Yeah. I think I am."

"Good. I'm glad you're happy. You and Sammy'll be happy together, okay?"

Either this Lily truly wore her heart on her sleeve, or she was just so much the Lily he knew that Dean could read her like a book. He watched as her expression shifted from confusion to understanding, to horror in a matter of moments. Now, and only now, as she sat just inches from the gun she thought would take her life, did the tears come. "What? What do you mean?"

"Look, if this doesn't work—"

"If WHAT doesn't work? What's happening? Dean, you have to shoot me, he said. If you don't, he'll just kill all of us. Please, Dean, it's okay. I'm ready. I'm not scared, I promise."

He took her hands in his and leaned in close. If the djinn knew what he was about to do, he didn't give any sign. "I know you're not," Dean whispered. "Do you trust me?"

"Dean, it has to be this way. It _has _to. You and Sammy are…you're getting married. Mom's so excited, she's already got dresses, and Jess booked the chapel, and we picked colors, and—"

"Lily."

"And Carmen loves you. She _loves _you, Dean! She talks about you all the time, how you changed everything for her, and you can't leave her now, you can't, you'll kill her—"

"Lil, wait."

"You've got people to go to, Dean. Families! Mom'll be okay without me, she'll have Carmen and Jess, and I'm not too young, Sammy's just a few years older than me, so it can't be him, and it can't be you! It has to be me, Dean. It _has_ to." She was sobbing now, shaking, and Sam was stirring in her arms. Dean had to finish this, and he had to do it soon.

He leaned over and swept her into his own arms, deftly silencing her protests against his shoulder. "Shh," he soothed gently. "Listen, Lily. I need you to listen. If this doesn't work…if I'm wrong, you take my phone and call the police, okay? Don't try and take the freak on, and don't leave Sam. Just sit tight and call the police." He could feel her shaking against him. Her cries were muffled, but even so, he heard:

"…has to be me…has to be me…"

Dean shook his head and kissed her brow. "No," he said, releasing her and turning away to hide the sight from her. For a moment, his heart jumped in his chest. If he was wrong…

_No._

"No. It has to be me."

He put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger. He'd expected the sound of the gun firing to be overwhelming, but all he could hear was Lily's scream.

* * *

Her voice came first. It always did.

"Dean…Dean, please…"

It was dark. His head was heavy, and everything around him felt dense and cold. But he could hear her voice, and it was rescue enough.

"Mom…?"

The voice faltered, made the tiniest of sounds, a whimper somewhere between anguish and relief. Then, "No, Dean. Open your eyes. It's me. It's Lily."

"Lily?" He felt as though he'd just left his little sister, and hadn't seen her in ages all at once.

"C'mon, Dean, you gotta open your eyes. We've gotta go."

He didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to remember his dream…his mother…

There was a sharp pain in the crease of his arm, then his wrists, then his legs, then all at once, something solid collided with his body.

"Dean, please…please…"

It was Lily. He heard her clearly now, even as the tar-heaviness of the air around him began to dissipate. The fear in her voice made him open his eyes on instinct: something was very wrong.

She was there, standing in front of him, her green eyes swimming into motion, first, and beyond that, a mass of unwashed hair, pale skin, purple-blue bruises, a fat lip.

Beyond that still, what looked like an empty barn house. The scent of sweat and mildewed hay struck his nose, and he suddenly realized he felt wretched. His body ached, his head throbbed, his throat was dry. He coughed.

"I know," said Lily, pressing a hand to his head. "I know. You're dehydrated, but we have to run. Lean on me. C'mon."

And then he was walking, feeling as though he hadn't stretched his legs in years. Pins and needles came alive in his feet and hands—his wrists, he saw now, were rubbed raw. There was a pinprick of blood at the crease of his elbow—evidence of an IV line he couldn't remember. Moonlight streamed in through a gaping hole in the roof, throwing a dim silver light over a straw-covered floor, bales of hay…two bodies, and blood. A lot of blood.

Dean staggered to a halt, his stomach in his throat. "Lily—" he coughed.

"It's not mine. Please, Dean, I'll explain on the way. Right now, we have to _go._"

She wouldn't look at him—another sign something was wrong—but her voice told him not to ask any more questions, though several burned their way into his head, even as he stumbled, stiff-legged, after her.

What happened? Where were they? Who were these people? Had they done that to his sister's face? And where was-?

It was then he saw the djinn. There were many djinn, he knew, but even if they were all identical, he'd have recognized the one that had nearly ruined his life. It lay facedown in the hay, oozing blue-black blood from a knife wound in its back.

Everything came rushing back all at once. He staggered. Next to him, Lily slowed.

"Dean?"

Dean stopped and looked at her. It had only been four letters—one syllable. His name, something he heard hundreds of times a day. But uttered like that, it told him things were bad. Very bad. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to take Lily and run far away, as fast as he could. To sit her down, and tell her everything would be okay. To protect her, from what, he didn't know.

Instead, he said only, "I'm okay, Lil. Let's go."

Together, him leaning heavily on her, they made it out of the barn house, into the moonlight, down a short trail, and into a clearing where the Impala was hidden. He couldn't guess where they were—it was too dark out. But at that moment, it didn't much seem to matter.

Lily reached the car first. "You need to sit," she said. "It's been…it's been keeping you alive, somehow, but just barely—"

"What has? The djinn? How—?"

"I'll explain in the car," she said tersely, digging in her pocket, presumably for the keys to the Impala. Why she had them, he couldn't guess.

"So, you're driving now?" It was supposed to be a joke, but it sounded lame and empty in the unsettling quiet of the night.

Not that it mattered. Lily didn't hear him. Maybe it was the jangling of the key ring in her hand as she tried to unlock the door. She dropped the keys, and bent to grab them, and over her shoulder, Dean frowned at the sight of his baby—or rather the mass of coffee cups and energy drink cans that had once been his front seat.

"Jesus, Lil, caffeinate much?"

"What?" She was trying the keys again—then dropping them again.

Dean's frown deepened. "You want me to get that?"

"W-what?" Lily said again absently. Dean watched her try to unlock the door for the a third time—cringing as her shaking hands nearly took the paint off with the key.

"Okay, enough." He grabbed her shoulders to turn her around—and backed up as she jumped half a foot in the air.

"Lily, what the hell?"

And now she was looking at him, really looking at him, and shaking visibly, too hard to speak. Oh.

"S-s-sor—"

He ignored her and laid two fingers gently on the inside of her wrist. "Lily," he said cautiously, "you're pretty close to tachycardic, okay?" He gestured to the cache of caffeine cups and can in the front seat. "When's the last time you had anything to eat to balance all that out?"

Suddenly, she wrenched her hands away from him to clutch at her chest, reddening and coughing as she struggled to breath. "C-can't—I—I can't—"

Dean didn't say a word. He turned and used his hip to shove Lily up against the car, supporting her with one arm before her legs gave. With the other, he unlocked the door, pulled it open, and shoved her inside.

"Back, Lily. Lie back." He'd taken on the stiff military tone he remembered John using back during those early hunts, when he was scared, but didn't want anyone to know. _I knew_, Dean thought. _I always knew._

Dean put a gentle hand on her chest and guided her back. The contact seemed to calm her for a moment, but he could still feel her heart pounding, and it frightened him. Face impassive, he rolled down the window, and put her feet through—above her heart. Then he shut the door and went to the other side of the car where he knelt by her head.

He could see the tendons in her neck, white and rigid and jutting from her skin as she clutched the seat beneath her hard enough to break her fingernails. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes—she lifted a hand to dash them away, but she was shaking so hard, she came closer to blacking her eye than drying it.

Dean caught at her hand and squeezed, stilling it for a moment. He saw her eyes suddenly fasten on his, on the only thing keeping her together while her body threatened to shake itself apart.

"D-d-dean," she said, and for a second, he was afraid she'd bite through her tongue. "I-it h-h-hurts. It hurts, I—can't—"

"Shhh," he said smoothly, allowing an ounce of softness into his voice without loosing his cool demeanor. Not yet. Lily couldn't handle that yet. Instead, he slid into the car and put her head in his lap, taking her hand firmly in his. "I know, Lil. I know it does. You way overdosed here, but you're gonna be okay, alright? Listen to me Lily—you're gonna be okay. You and me, we're gonna get through this. Squeeze my hand now, okay? Squeeze as hard as you can. Do it now, Lily."

She stared up at him, eyes huge, shaking hard enough to move the seat. "C-can't, I—I—can't—"

"Yes, you can. I know it hurts, and I know you feel like you're out of control, but you're not. I've got you. You feel my hand, Lil? I got you, okay? I'm right here. It's just gonna take a minute for the caffeine to work its way out, and then it'll stop. You'll be okay. But now you need to squeeze. Hang on to me, Lil. The shaking'll stop. Your heart rate's gonna go down, and your chest'll stop hurting. C'mon, Lil, think. You know this stuff. You know this."

There was a pause long enough that he considered taking her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. Then her fingers twitched inside his. It was all he could do not to cry. _Not yet. Not yet. _

"Good girl," he said, brushing his free hand over her hair. "Good girl. That's it. It's getting better now, see? The pressure's lifting. It's easier to breathe. Keep squeezing, Lily. Big, deep breaths. You can do it."

And bit by bit, the tremors stopped. The tension eased out of her body, leaving her limp and exhausted, but alive. Her eyes drifted closed as her breathing evened, and for a minute, he thought she'd passed out.

Then she blinked her eyes open. Her grip had gone limp in his, but he still held her hand, anchoring himself as much as her. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Was he shaking now? Or was that just the memory?

Her ghosted a hand over her hair again. "Better?" he said.

She offered a weary half smile. "Give me two seconds," she said hoarsely, then vaulted up, threw open the door, and vomited between her feet in one fluid moment.

She was sick a long time, during which Dean found a plastic water bottle in the trunk that had been there God knows how long, but since he didn't think water had an expiration date, he handed it to her, anyway, as she sat limply hang over her knees, and hand clutching the doorframe weakly.

"All done?"

She didn't even lift her head. "I think so."

He carefully stepped around her mess, cracked the lid on the bottle, and offered it to her. "Good. Drink, Lil. All of it. Slowly."

She reached out to accept the bottle with a shaking hand—now from exhaustion, he hoped—then stopped. "You have some first." She shook her head when he started to argue. "Trust me, you need it more than I do," she said. "And I can't drive like this, so you have some water, and I'll finish the rest, I promise." She grinned wryly. "Look, either way, we're both drinking from that bottle. You're probably gonna wanna go first."

He studied her face a moment, pale, and bruised, but honest, then downed half the bottle. Truth be told, he could have had the whole thing, and six more. But if he let Lily see as much, she'd have never taken it back.

"I'm never looking at another cup of coffee again." She accepted the bottle and swung her feet back inside the car—and straight up onto the dash, so she sat sort of half cradled between the seat back and the window. She took a deep drink, then leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and exhaled.

Dean climbed into the car beside her, glanced at her shoes on the dash, and raised an eyebrow. "Does that help your stomach?"

"What?" She didn't open her eyes—she already sounded half asleep.

"Sitting like that. With your feet on my baby. Does it help your stomach?"

Now she did open her eyes, and looked so subtly defiant, he almost laughed. Dream or reality, only Lily could scowl like she did. "Who said anything about my stomach?"

"Um. The three-months worth of caffeine you just threw up outside."

She clenched her jaw and looked about to argue, but then rethought it and said only, "Yeah," and then, "When do the cramps stop?"

Dean grimaced, having heard the pain in her voice clear as day. "You need to eat something."

"Yes, that's exactly what I want now."

Yep. She was back. "Lily, five minutes ago I was about thirty seconds from taking you to the ER. I don't really care what you want—I'm telling you what you need, and you need to eat." He glanced at the cache of old coffee cups and soda cans on the floor of the Impala. "When's the last time you had something that _wasn't _caffeine?"

The way Lily went from defiant to avoidant in a half second told him exactly what he needed and stopped his blood cold. His mind was suddenly pushing a million questions a minute—more than just when, but why? Why hadn't she eaten? Where had she been, who had she been with? Where was—?

"There wasn't time, Dean."

Lily's voice had changed. Gone was the defiance, gone was the humility, gone, even, were traces of physical pain, though he doubted the pain itself had fled. This was fear. Fear and guilt, and when he looked up at her, she was staring at her hands.

And now it was his heart pounding painfully and too quickly against his chest as he said, "Wasn't time for what, Lily? Why didn't you have time?"

"No time for anything," she said, her voice quiet and hateful. "I didn't—I couldn't—eat, or—or sleep. I've just been driving. For days. Looking for you, and—" Her voice broke here. "There's no time, Dean," she said again. "We have to go. We have to go now."

"Go where? Why?" As if he didn't already know.

"They've got him, Dean. They took Sammy."

His heart slammed to a halt in his chest. He would never know if he'd actually ever said the words, or if Lily answered without prompting, but when she looked at him, it was with fear and hate and guilt.

"The Yellow-Eyed Demon. Him and his army. They took Sam."


	38. The InBetween

**Sooo, it occurs to me, that as of the time of this writing, I should maybe let you all know I haven't seen a new episode of SPN in about a year. I am a HUGE fan of the show, but what happened after season 5 just sort of...hurt me. I kind of staggered through season six, and I've heard snippets of season 7, but other than that, I have zero idea of what's going on. HOWEVER, the episodes are now up on Hulu and Netflix, and I have a few friends (avid fans who quit around the same time I did) swearing up and down that the show is in recoup mode, so I think I'm going to give it a try once I have some time. **

**THAT MEANS, you can all expect more frequent posts, I hope, especially this summer (TEN MORE DAYS!). I'll need to rewatch S6 with a new vigor, I think, since most of the time, I was doing something else to get through the newer episodes. [heavysigh]**

**Anyway, wish me luck! Thanks for reading, as always, and reviews are much appreciated!**

**Heartsicles,**

**CA**

* * *

It was dawn when Bobby finally called. His hand had gone instinctively to his pocket when he heard the ring, and his sluggish mind had been a long moment in realizing the ring wasn't his. It was another minute before he unearthed Lily's vibrating phone from the pile of coffee cups in the backseat. He wondered how long it had been there, buried and unheeded.

The story of the last week had been fragmented. Lily had thrown up most of the caffeine, but anxiety made her fidgety and sparked vicious mood swings. Between bouts of grief and anger, and over a forced—though quick—iHop breakfast, he'd learned that he and his siblings had been separated since leaving Missouri's house over a week ago.

"Last I remember, we were in the Impala, you and I," he said, watching her over her untouched plate of eggs and bacon. "Sam was in the house with Missouri. We were driving somewhere, maybe five minutes out, we hit a fork in the road, then—"

Lily shook her head helplessly, staring down at her cold food. Despite her earlier promise, she'd asked for another cup of coffee when they reached the diner, and for a half second, Dean was tempted to give in. She hadn't slept, as it turned out, in almost eight days, and if adrenaline and caffeine were the only things keeping her going, she'd just lost half her advantage. She'd nearly passed out in the car there next to him, all curled up in the front seat, and as much as he wanted her to sleep, he was afraid she'd get sick again if she didn't eat something.

"I don't remember, either," she'd said, fiddling idly with her fork. "I remember we were in the car. I remember falling asleep. Then I woke up a week ago, and you, and Missouri, and—everything. Everything was gone."

She took a deep breath here, as if bracing herself against a physical pain. Dean fought the sudden nausea. _This is good,_ he told himself for the thousandth time. _We can't go anywhere 'til we know where we're going. This is good for all of us. This has to happen. _

"At first, I thought you'd stopped the car and gone for a walk," Lily started again. "So, I waited. An hour. Two. Three. When it started getting dark, I tried calling you. I figured you wouldn't leave me, alone, asleep, unarmed in the middle of nowhere, so, you know, I started thinking maybe something had happened to you."

She laughed suddenly. It was a sad sound, empty and cold, and she wouldn't look at him, but she laughed.

"Did you know yours was the first phone number I ever memorized? It was a big deal, too. When I was in kindergarten, they told us we all had to memorize our home numbers, and 911, in case of emergencies. 911, I had, of course. But I always had trouble with the house number. I mean, I was four years old. How was I supposed to remember a new motel number every week, even without room extensions and all that? And Dad's number changed every time he got a new job. Sam didn't have a phone yet. But you—you had a phone. One phone. And Dad had always told me, 'If anything happens, Lily, you find your big brothers. That's it.' I knew he knew more about real trouble than kindergarten teachers, even at four. So I memorized yours." She looked up at him suddenly, insistent, desperate. "Do you see what I'm saying, Dean? I memorized your number when I was four. It was the first thing I ever really knew. I've known your phone number since I was four. Sixteen years. Three quarters of my life. And—" She broke off, shaking again. "We don't have time for this. We need to go. We need to—"

"You need to eat." He wanted to go, of course. Wanted it so bad it hurt. But he couldn't risk heading out on a wild goose chase when Lily was only 20% coherent as it were. "Breathe. We're okay."

Lily gazed at him with a combination of frustration and apprehension, but took a shaky breath and started anew. "I…I called you. I sat in the car, and I dialed the number I've been dialing for practically my whole life. I don't even have to look at the numbers, don't even have to think, my fingers just know. I dialed, and got," she took another quavering breath, "'this number cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again.'"

The perfectness with which Lily matched the recorded voice sent a shiver up his spine. How many times had she heard the message? How many times had she tried to call him? How many times had he not answered? The guilt in his stomach felt solid as stone.

"So, I dialed again. I mean, I was tired, and anxious—maybe I'd made a mistake, you know? It happens. Even with habit. I tried it again…and same thing. So, the third time I was careful. The fourth time I panicked, and fifth time, I was just…angry. Messing up almost on purpose. I waited ten minutes and tried again. And again. And again."

She laughed, but this time with an almost-hysterical edge. He was about to interrupt, but she got a hold of herself, and started again. "You'd think they'd change the message the fifteenth time around. Track the number, figure it was the same person, give them something other than the same. It starts to get patronizing, you know? But they don't. It's just the same thing, ten, twenty, thirty times in a row. 'This call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again.'

"Then I thought maybe something was wrong with your phone. No reception, or out of range, or minutes, or something. I tried Sammy. Got the same message. I was there making the same stupid calls for two hours, two whole hours, before I realized it was my phone. _I _was the one out of range. _I _was the one who was wrong.

"It was almost a relief at first. I mean, I was still worried something had happened to you, but at least I knew you weren't beyond reaching. I called Missouri. I figured, if nothing else, she'd let me talk to Sam. But that wouldn't work, because I wouldn't be able to reach her, because my phone was acting up.

"But it wasn't. She answered. Said she hadn't seen any of us since we'd up and left the night before. Even yelled at me for being so rude about it.

"Then she asked if something was wrong. Said she'd felt something—a…disturbance, like she knew—but thought it was just Sammy or me leaving."

Her voice broke again, and when Lily picked up her fork, Dean could see the tremors. But she forced herself to take a deep breath, and a sip of water, and the tremors went still again. Or stiller.

_Good girl_, Dean tried to say, before finding he couldn't speak. Lily went on for him.

"I started driving. I just…I panicked. I hate driving that car. You know that. I wouldn't have, if I didn't—I just thought—maybe, if I could find you—"

"It's okay, Lily. It's okay." That was all he could get out. The situation was growing beyond his control. It was true—Lily hated the Impala. Wouldn't drive it if you paid her. In fact the only reason she would even get behind the wheel was if—

"I was at it for hours, I guess. I'd…I'd woken up at a crossroads—" She broke off again here, but it wasn't like the last few times. This wasn't an emotional break. This was secretive. This was 'oops-I-said-something-I-shouldn't-have'. This was suspicious. What else could she have to hide? But Dean let it slide. Right now, finding Sammy was the most important thing. He would worry about Lily's secrets later. "I…I mean…I took all four routes as far as they would go." She pointed at the bruises on her face, standing out against the pallid tones in her skin. "I nearly wrecked the car before I realized I was searching for the hay in a needlestack. Or…the other way around. I don't know."

"Lily," he said as calmly as he could, trying not to think about his mangled sister OR his totaled car. "Why didn't you call—"

"Bobby? I did. After I nearly killed myself, I got smart. I pulled over, and I called Bobby. I told him I'd blacked out almost two days ago, and lost nearly the whole time. Couldn't remember anything. Didn't know where you two were.

"He tracked my GPS to some little town in Mississippi. Rosedale, or something. Some famous blues musician used to live there, Sammy would know him. Said I should come up and he'd help me find you.

"I was going. I was on my way. I really was. But then…it started raining somewhere over Kansas. I tried to turn on the windshield wipers, but I got the fog lights instead. The guy in front of me thought I was flashing them at him, and he honked at me, and…I lost it."

Dean was feeling lost himself. Lily still hadn't touched her food, still hadn't stopped shaking, wasn't even halfway through her story, and—what? He was sitting here in a middle-of-nowhere iHop. His sister was a nervous wreck, his brother was missing, kidnapped by the demon that had killed his father, and he didn't even know where to begin piecing his family back together.

Across from him, Lily shuddered and went green, folding her arms carefully over her stomach. She'd been doing it now every twenty minutes for an hour. He had his answer. It was strangely soothing, knowing where to put his hands. Here. This was where he needed to start.

"Finish your water," he said. "Finish your water, and eat a piece of bacon, Lily."

"Please, Dean, I'm not hungry. Can't we just—"

"No. You have too much caffeine and not enough anything else in your system. If you have another of those attacks again, I'm going to take you to the hospital, and that's more time we don't have. Please, Lil. You look like hell. Just one slice of bacon. For me."

She couldn't hold his eyes for more than a second, but she finished dutifully, first the water, then, a little slower, the bacon. She gagged on the first bite, but by the end of the third, she was looking less flushed and her hands had stopped shaking.

"I was sitting there on the side of the road, watching the sun come up, realizing it meant you guys had been gone for two days," she started again, her voice stronger. "And I broke. I drove to a library, and started researching. I just—" she shrugged helplessly. "Every hunt I could find between Missouri's place and Missippi." Now she did look up, almost smiling. "You'd have been proud, Dean. I hit three places that first day. Five on the second. Bobby was calling by the third, but…" she trailed off.

"Four poltergeists in three different states. Another wendigo. A shapeshifter, and two werewolves. All by myself." She sounded almost proud. Dean just felt sick, but he held his tongue. "I thought maybe you'd gone for a hunt, and something had gone wrong. You and Sammy. If I could just find the hunt, get through to you, I could do it. I could find you, and everything would be okay again.

"It wasn't 'til about two days ago when Bobby must have realized what I was doing. He sent me a text. Just one. I've got it memorized by now, I could say it in my sleep: Text from Dean's phone. Djinn in Joliet, Illinois."

She looked at him hopefully, but he could say nothing. He didn't remember the last week, let alone sending a text. As far as he knew, his phone had been out of commission for days. Her eyes watched him for a second longer, then dimmed with recognition.

"I called him back. He was angry—" She laughed, then, really laughed, and for just a second, Dean felt better, "—he's going to kill me next time we see him. I called him back, and he said he'd tried your number, but just gotten a dial tone. Still. It was better than—" She didn't repeat the message. Couldn't.

"He wanted me to wait for him. Said I couldn't handle the djinn by myself. I told him I'd wait, and then I started driving. I've been looking for that thing for two days, then tonight, I caught a break. I found you there, and…I guess you know the rest."

Dean was quiet for a long minute while Lily waited anxiously, picking at her food. At least she was kind of eating, never mind the fact that she looked almost too tired to chew. He needed to get something besides caffeine in her. He needed her to not throw it up in half an hour. He needed to take the Impala and find his little brother and make sure his baby sister got some sleep. Because if something happened to Sammy, something she could have prevented, or even thought she could have prevented, she would never—

_Sammy_, he told himself. _Think of Sammy._

He looked at Lily, at the handful of bruises thrown over her face, at her unkempt hair and pallid skin, at the way her freckles stood out in the stark light overhead. She needed sleep, and he needed Sammy. He needed to be the strong one. That was his job, wasn't it?

_And a great job, too. Lily's a wreck, and Sammy—Sammy…_

"Lily." He spoke her name too sharply in an effort to interrupt his own thoughts, but it got her attention. "This is what we're gonna do, okay? We're going to find him. We're gonna find Sammy, and he's gonna be fine. We're gonna go to Bobby's, and we're gonna track down Sam the same way you found me. Both of us, this time. We'll find him that much faster. But first I need you to relax, and finish your breakfast, and tell me everything you know about where Sam could be. Even if it doesn't seem important. I need to know everything, and then I need you to sleep."

She was shaking her head before he finished. "I can't," she said firmly, sounding more like herself than she had all night. "I have to help you look."

"For what, Bobby's house? That's where we're going, Lil, and you know I can get there with my eyes closed. So take ten minutes, that's it. Eat what you can, and then we'll go to Bobby's and get everything else sorted out."

"But— "

"Do you wanna hear what the djinn showed me?" He cut her off before she could speak again. "You were a ballet instructor."

That seemed to put her in her place. "I was _what_?"

Her story finished, and at least one brother alive and well, caffeine and adrenaline dropped Lily like a brick. She'd been asleep before he was even halfway through his own story of what the djinn had given him. He'd paid for the meal and carried her to the car—he started to lay her in the back, then changed his mind—and she didn't stir once. And now Bobby was calling—for the millionth time, if her phone history was anything to go by. Dean picked up her phone, glanced at her sister, decided she wouldn't be woken by a tornado outside the window, and answered with a whisper.

"Hello?"

Bobby's answer was so loud, Dean jumped and nearly hurled the phone out the window before settling on holding it arm's length from his ear. Even so, he could hear every word clearly.

"—got a lot of nerve, 'hello', after what you put me through. Ignore my calls for days, shut off yer GPS, you think I can't find you if I don't want to, girlie? I can follow your trails of hunts, Lily, and what were you thinking, taking on a buncha hellhounds by yourself—"

That was enough to put Dean back in big brother mode. "Hellhounds? Where did she find those?"

The voice on the other end paused abruptly, then, in a characteristically Bobby-tone said, "Dean? 'Sthat you?"

"Yeah, Bobby, it's me, now—"

"You alright, then? She found you?"

"Yes, she found me, but—"

"And you're alright?"

"I'm fine, but listen—"

"Good." And then Dean had to hold the phone away from his ear again while Bobby began his tirade all over.

"—worried your sister half to death, and that ain't no kinda exaggeration, ya idgit, girl near went crazy trying to—"

"She still IS half to death, Bobby, so you gotta keep it down." That shut him up for a second, so Dean continued, "She found me a few hours ago, and then nearly had a heart attack from all the caffeine in her system. What do you know about all this? Any news on Sammy?"

"Probably less than you do, Dean. I'm still lookin' for yer idgit brother, but I ain't found nothin', yet. Hell, I wouldna found you without you sendin' me that text message—"

"I didn't send you a text message, Bobby. Or at least I don't remember it."

"And that's a mystery in and of itself, but it's one we don't got time for. You headin' this way?"

"Be there in about six hours."

"And your sister—she holdin' up alright?"

"Catching up on a week's worth of sleep, and she looks like death warmed over, but she'll be okay once we find Sam."

"Alright, then, I'll give you a call if I find anything 'fore you get here."

"Thanks, Bobby. And thanks for taking care of her."

"You two just get here whole, and we'll call it even." And then he was gone.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and turned to put her phone back, only to find Lily awake and staring at him.

"Did I wake you?" he said. "Sorry. You haven't been asleep long, and we won't be at Bobby's for another six hours, why don't you—"

"I know where he is."

"What?"

"Sam. I know where he is. Dean, we can't go to Bobby's, and we can't wait. You need to drive to some place in South Dakota called Cold Oak and you need to do it fast." Her voice was so strangely calm that Dean felt compelled to listen.

"How do you know?" he asked, foot on the accelerator.

"I…I Saw it," she said. "I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"But we don't have anything else to go on," Dean said tersely. "Did you see anything else?"

Lily didn't hesitate. Never before had she had to lie so convincingly.

"No," she said. "Nothing."

Dean didn't need to know that she'd seen Sammy die.

After all, like Missouri said: what she saw only applied to situations in which she was not present. All she had to do was get there in time.

* * *

"You said sixteen years."

"Mm?"

If the car hadn't been so painfully quiet, he'd have thought he'd imagined it. It was the first sound he'd heard from Lily in four hours, since she'd woken up looking haunted and gaunt. She hadn't said anything, or even looked at him, or anywhere, except straight ahead since telling him about Cold Oak. He'd called Bobby back, said he'd gotten a lead—tracked Sam's GPS, he lied. Bobby didn't need to know everything right now—and then took the next exit north past Bobby's.

They were still three hours away. The sky was darkening, and the tension in the car was growing palpable. Lily was still exhausted. He could see it in her face. But she wouldn't or couldn't sleep, and when anxiety made her toy with her pocketknife, Dean had taken it away after she'd nearly sliced her palm open.

"You should be sleeping," he'd told her. "Apparently, I've been sleeping for a least a few days now. I can handle the drive, if that's what you're worried about." It was stupid. Of course that wasn't what she was worried about, or at least not completely.

He'd expected an argument. He'd hoped for concession. What he got was neither, and infinitely worse than both. Lily hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, hadn't even blinked in response. If she hadn't still been fisting her hands in her lap, he'd have thought she was asleep with her eyes open.

It was then he remembered something she'd said back in the diner. Something that had piqued his interest—but paled in comparison to everything else she'd been saying.

"Back in the diner," he said. "You said you memorized my number when you were four. Sixteen years ago."

"Okay."

"You're 20."

"Yes."

"We missed your birthday."

Now there was a hint of a smile, though she didn't take her eyes from the horizon. "We've been a little busy."

"Not too busy to buy a cupcake or something."

"I hate cupcakes."

"You hate—"

"What's the point? If I'm going to eat cake, I'm going to eat cake." Dean wanted to cry. Lily sounded more like Lily than she had in…well, months. "A cupcake is just…insulting," she went on, still mercifully snarky. "And bad news. Like donut holes. You say, 'just one can't hurt,' and then you've eaten thirty and—oops! Diabetes."

"You've eaten 30 donut holes in one sitting?" He raised an eyebrow despite himself.

Now a real smile. "I didn't forget everything when I left home."

"'Cept how to celebrate your birthday."

"What, you mean wrapped up with Christmas? New rifle cartridge and a day off research? Trust me, I've been treating myself for years."

Dean grimaced. It was true. Lily's birthday fell 2 days before Christmas, and tended to be overlooked as it were.

"It's not a big deal, Dean, really. I've been doing the solo birthday thing for a while now. Everyone in a boarding school goes home for Christmas break, or at least most of them, and same in college. Really, it's better that way. It's a quiet day to treat myself to a new book and a pint of ice cream and a library all to myself. And…I mean…" For the first time in hours, the tension went out of her shoulders, and she looked down at her hands. When Dean glanced over, she was flushed red. His heart jumped into his throat.

"Lily? Are you okay?" He reached over the grab her wrist, check for her pulse—if she was going tachy again—

She smiled and pulled back. "I'm fine, Dean. I was gonna say…it was a pretty good birthday present, anyway."

"What?"

She was quiet for a long moment, and Dean thought she'd finally fallen asleep. Then:

"I had a dream. I mean…a vision dream. I…I Saw. At the crossroads. It's where I first Saw the hellhounds."

"What happened?"

"I only remember snippets. Some famous blues singer…ripped apart by these huge dogs. Big, black things. Invisible things."

"How—?"

"Hey, I don't know how it works," Lily said wearily. "I Saw them. He saw them. No one else in my vision…in my dream did." She glanced back out at the smudge of orange-purple-black where the dusk faded to twilight darkness. "They were after him because of some deal he'd made at the crossroads where I woke up. Years before, I guess. He'd gone there and made a deal. With a demon. He knew what it was, he must have, or else he never would have tried it. I guess…I guess he was desperate for fame."

Lily shivered. "I don't know how anyone could ever be desperate enough to make a deal with a demon, but he did. So, he got famous. And then…years later, they…they came back for him. For his pay."

"Which was?"

"Dean, giant dogs from hell tore him to pieces. I don't know how much 'money' that's worth, but it's more than we'll ever have."

Dean looked at her and was surprised to see she was smiling. Almost.

"Happy birthday, Lil," he said. "And that's what."

She frowned. "What?"

"If I ever had to make a deal with a demon, it'd be for that. For you. To see you happy. For Sam."

"For Dad?" she said suddenly. "Like Dad did?" She wasn't smiling any more, and Dean knew he's said the wrong thing.

"Lily…"

"Just drive, Dean. Hurry."

Dean sighed and put a foot on the accelerator while Lily tried to ignore the horrible coldness in her belly and the feeling that she'd just done something incredibly stupid.

* * *

**The next chapter is done and uploaded, and will be published soon (for real this time!) It's just a mini chapter, though. I'll explain more when I get there. **

**Thanks!**  
**CA**


	39. Jake

**A short chapter, so let me start by saying a few things, and then I'll let you get to it.**

**1) Of all the chapters I've written for this story, I think this is my favorite by far. I actually wrote it a while back, at least half a year, after rewatching clips of some of the older episodes. It was one of the few I've been able to write in one sitting, because I knew exactly where I wanted it to start and where I wanted it to end. That's part of what makes it so succinct. **

**2) Have you ever noticed how all the Black characters on SPN are either miraculously short-lived, or crazy? I started watching the show when I was about fifteen, the same year it first aired, but I was in high school then, and up to my eyeballs in extra curricular stuff, so it fell off my radar real quick, until about three years ago, when I watched four consecutive seasons in one summer, and I just remember noticing all these minor Black characters...getting killed off or left behind. Other hunters, or Cassie...all the 'evil' angels. Bobby's friend. Even in the first episode, Sam's college buddy, who was around for a minute. I still love the show...I'm just saying, give us a chance!**

**3) Which brings me to Jake Talley, central character in this short chapter. Could we possibly hate anyone more? I mean [[SPOILER ALERT]], John was one of the first characters to die in the show, aside from Jess and Mary, but at least they were killed by demons, and not one surly jerk, amirite? But to kill Sam? I'll admit it-I was a Sam-girl for a LOOOONG time. Still might be, though I feel like as of the end of season five, I rest comfortably between the two. Anyway, what kind of dark-hearted person do you have to be to kill SAM? Jake set off a chain of...what, four, five seasons? Which is great for fans, but awful for the boys. **

**4) Buuuuut he was just human. Literally. One of the Special Children, and ultimately, the YED's chosen, but initially, he was just human. I remember watching AHBL, part 2, and thinking he really was gonna turn on YED and take him out for killing all the others...until Azazel threatened his family. I remember thinking, "What would I do?" I have a little brother (who, okay, at 19 is now enormous, but it's the thought that counts!), and if someone threatened him...Well. **

**This is my attempt to shine a little new light on Jake Tulley. He's still a jerk. We still hate him. But we should also remember he had a tough decision to make. **

**Hope my preaching hasn't scared you off. Enjoy! New chapters in the works. =)**

**Hearts,**

**CA**

* * *

He was running.

That much, he still knew, and for a moment, the knowledge was a blessed relief.

Running—physical work—made sense to him. Always had, even before he joined the army. The real army, that was. The good army.

He barked out a laugh. _Figures_. Figures that he'd go from one army to the next. Figures that his freaky-ass super power would be freaky-ass super strength. Figures…figures that he'd be the last one standing. Running.

His laughter filled the sudden eerie stillness of the night. _Haha_. The tree branches grabbed at his face and clothes and feet, trying to blind him, trying to trip him, trying to punish him for what he'd done.

_Figures. Haha._

And then his laughing was coughing, and then vomiting, and he was doubled over, gasping, and retching, and trying not to sob. He hadn't meant it. None of it. How had this all happened? One minute, he was with his buddies in Afghanistan…and then…demons, ghosts, super heroes. Or…super villains.

He vomited again, and looked up.

There was a girl.

She stood silent as the dark, bathed in a silver-white ring of light.

He stumbled back. He'd seen too much in the last few days to trust her. Even if she was young. Even if she did look like—

Then she spoke.

"Jake. Right?" It wasn't a question. She knew. He knew she knew.

_Who are you?_ he wanted to say. But the words stuck in his throat behind a lump of fear and self-loathing. _It was them or me. I had to._

Instead, he brandished the knife, still slick with blood. His stomach lurched. When had the knife become instinct?

But the girl only eyed the knife neutrally. "You won't kill me."

Jake swallowed and held the knife out between them. The moonlight shone red in the streak of blood. "How do you know?"

The girl nodded calmly at his fatigues. Her hair was dark, and too straight, and her eyes were green instead of honey-brown, but he could see it, in the way she stood, in her expressions and gestures. She looked just like _her_…

"You're a soldier," she said, and for a moment, Jake even heard it in her voice. "A real one. A good one. Because you want to serve and protect civilians like me. Because the man you stabbed back there is dying. And because I remind you of your sister. Maya."

He heard her name like an icicle to the gut, and now he could say it: "Who are you? How do you know Maya?" A horrible thought seized him. "Is she—?"

"She's fine," the girl responded levelly. "Your sibling is fine." Jake wasn't sure whether he imagined the inflection behind 'your', but it was gone before he could examine it any closer.

"My name," she went on, "is Lily. Lily Winchester. And Sam is—was my brother."

Yes. He could see it the moment Sam's name left her lips. She was so like Maya in size and posture, but she looked like her brother. The same nose, the same dark hair…_What have I done?_

The girl—Lily—canted her head to one side. It was the only way he knew her next words were a question. Her voice lacked any sort of inflection.

"You didn't know Sam had a little sister, did you? Just like you. And Andy, he had a twin brother. And Lily—the other Lily, the one you left dead back in town—she was going to propose to her girlfriend. Her name was Maya, too. Did you know that?"

"Stop it." The words were strangled. Jake wouldn't have known the voice was his if he hadn't been thinking the same words over and over in his head: _Stop. Stop it. I didn't know. How was I supposed to know? It was them or me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

The girl stopped, but she wouldn't take her eyes off him. If there was anger or sadness there, he couldn't see it.

"What are you going to do to me?" he said finally, after seconds and years.

"Are you afraid of me?" It was the first he'd heard anything definite in her voice: curiosity. Amusement, maybe. "You, the murderous soldier with a knife and superhuman strength? You just killed my brother."

He fought the urge to vomit again. His head suddenly felt too heavy. The ground shifted beneath his feet. His ears buzzed. "I had to," he tried, and the words sounded fake even to him. "I had no choice."

"There's always a choice." She paused and squinted up at the moon through the trees. "If I stay here, my friend will find you. If he doesn't kill you, my other brother will."

"How do you know that?" Because, again, she knew. And again, he knew she knew.

"I've Seen it," she replied simply.

He blinked. "You're one of Us."

The corner of her mouth twitched in the beginnings of a grimace or a grin. "I'm nothing like you. I am…special," she said the word as though it physically sickened her, "but I'm not like you. I'm not a killer. So. I'm going to let you go."

"Why would you do that?" Jake asked. He couldn't help it. The words leapt out of his mouth of their own accord. "Why would you let me live, after…"

Lily smiled serenely, and it was completely void of humor. Jake shuddered.

"Because tonight I learned that I can cause more damage if I'm not around than if I am," she said.

And then Jake was gone, running again, and when he turned around to check, Lily was gone, too.

* * *

**Okay, one more thing.**

**I know this is a little out of order, but I avoided Sam's death scene for several very specific reasons, the greatest of which being that my devotion is to the original show, and within that, the relationship between the boys. Long story short, I don't why to try to recreate such an emotional scene, at least not this soon in the story.  
**

**You WILL see Dean's reaction, and the aftermath, and a little bit of what Sam went through, but for the most part, I wanted to walk around Sam's death itself.  
**

**Questions? Comments? Concerns? You know what to do!  
**

**Lurve,  
**

**CA (again)  
**


	40. What Happened to Sam

**I know, I know. I'm not even going to try to make an excuse, because there IS no excuse for how horrible a person I am. I've been thinking on this for weeks, having everything before and after this scene done, or on the way, but putting this off 'cause I didn't know how to write it. You can see in it's length and quality I was still a little...confused when I wrote it. I hope the next few chapters (WARNING: they're a little depressing...obviously) help! **

**Thanks again for being so patient with me, guys. I'll do better, I swear!**

**For new readers, please don't be afraid to let know what you think! I love reviews in all shapes and forms. For those of you who have reviewed and I've neglected to get back to...please feel free to hate me.**

**For everyone-enjoy! The boys are, sadly, not mine. Perhaps it's better that way. =)**

**PS - Some of you may know I haven't seen the show since the middle of season six, but I'm slowly getting back through 6 and 7 in preparation for season 8. Hope I won't be disappointed!**

**HEARTS,**

**CA**

* * *

_Before Cold Oak, or maybe during, Sam had had one final vision. Like the other visions, it was to do with the 'special' kids like himself._

_Unlike the other visions, this one featured Lily._

* * *

It was the crying that woke him.

It would be years before instinct told him this was bad. Years before he knew crying, any crying, let alone his baby sister's, meant he needed to be up and out of bed _fast_, because someone was hurt, or in trouble, and if he waited around to do something stupid like sleep, that someone could just as well be him.

But little Sammy didn't know any of that now. Sammy knew other things, important things, like how to tell a Decepticon from an Autobot, and how to count to twenty, and how to trick Dean into giving him green popsicles when it got too hot out.

What he did not know, however, was why the baby was crying, and, more importantly, how to get it to stop.

His baby sister cried _a lot _and even though Mommy said it was normal, and Daddy said she'd stop soon, and Dean said Sammy had cried more than Lily when _he_ was a baby, it was still happening right now, and it was annoying.

Normally, Sam shared the bedroom with his younger sister and older brother, but Dean was in with Mommy and Daddy, because he finished all his chores for the week and was allowed to watch a movie before bed. He hadn't come back, so Sam guessed he'd fallen asleep in their bed. Which meant he wouldn't be able to put the baby back to sleep. Which meant it was Sam's job.

Sam pouted to himself, stubbornly curling further under his G.I. Joe bed sheets. It might be his job to quiet down the baby before she woke his parents. That didn't mean he had to get out of bed to do it.

"_Shhh!_" he hissed. "It's bedtime, Lily, that's mean no noise-making. You have to be quiet now!" Lily didn't even try to stop, and Sam could feel himself getting angry. When he got angry with the baby, Mommy always said to stop and count to ten, and then ask Lily nicely to be quiet, without hitting or yelling. But Mommy wasn't here, because if she were, she'd be telling Lily to stop, and not him. Sam frowned, frustrated. "Lily, _be quiet!_"

The quiet came so fast, even Sam was surprised. His eyes sprang open, and he sat up cautiously, peering through the dark. He'd wanted Lily to be quiet, but he hadn't wanted to scare her.

"Lily?" Nothing. Sam grabbed his pillow from his bed and clutched it to his chest, a feather-stuffed shield against the darkness. Nothing would ever be so useless or so useful ever again. "Lily? You can make noise now, if you want? Li—"

From the other side of the room, where Lily's crib was, came a suddenly flash of light so bright, Sam had to hide his face in the pillow. It was gone as soon as it had come, and when Sam tried to see if the ceiling light had burned out, he only found spots.

But when his vision cleared, there was a man standing over Lily's crib.

Sam was suddenly very glad he had used the bathroom before going to sleep. He hadn't heard Daddy come in, and the door was still closed, but—

"Daddy?"

The man over Lily's cage looked up. Even though there was no light in the room, somehow, the man's eyes glowed yellow, and Sam knew the man wasn't Daddy.

"Lily!" Sam couldn't remember dropping his pillow or running over to Lily's crib. He couldn't even remember thinking about doing it. He just remembered Mommy saying it was his special job to protect his baby sister, and he had to do it even when she was being annoying. And she wasn't. Now she was being very, very quiet. It scared him more than the man with yellow eyes.

The yellow-eyed man took a single step forward and was somehow around Lily's crib and directly in front of Sam all at once. Sam could feel himself shaking, but Lily had gone scary-quiet and Sam had to get to her. He frowned up at the man, and in a shaking voice said, "Y-you go away. You have to leave my baby sister alone! You—"

Several things happened at once. The man reached down and snatched Sammy up, impossibly fast, clutching the kicking boy to his chest. Lily was awake again, screaming, and Sammy was screaming right along with her. There was a man standing over Lily's crib—or was that the man holding Sammy? Pressing a hand to the boy's mouth? Sammy was tasting blood and trying to spit it out, uncertain of whether it was his own or not, and all the time, Lily was in her crib, crying—

And then Mommy was there, and Mommy was screaming, and Sammy and Lily were screaming. The man disappeared, and Mommy was—Mommy was…

Now they were all screaming, all of them, Sammy, Lily, Daddy, Dean, everyone but Mommy. The man was gone, and Mommy was—but Dean and Daddy were there, and everyone was screaming, screaming, screaming.


End file.
